Past and Future Town
by XMarisolX
Summary: Lois takes on a story that takes over her life. CHAPTER 35: Lois goes to confront Lex, and the results are... bad. Very bad. Reuploaded because I accidentally uploaded a draft version...not much difference in the two versions though.
1. Ill

**Rated:** Varies. K+ to a high T  
**Category:** Drama  
**Notes:** There are three things you should know about this story: (A) I began it three-and-a-half years ago. I left it, found it and was inspired to finish. And I will. (B) This is mostly a _Smallville_ future fic. I religiously followed _Smallville_ through Season 4, I mostly watched it through Season 5, and I completely abandoned it after that, only to watch the scene where Lex killed Lionel, since I had waited for that scene for years. While this is mostly a _Smallville_ fic, I have blended it heavily with Superman canon from the comics, movies and elsewhere. Lois is still Chloe's cousin, although she only vaguely knew Clark in Smallville. Lex is not dead or missing. Clark went to college and is only a little bumbling. I think you get the idea. (C) YouTube the video "Lex kill Lionel" (their title not mine) and watch it. Otherwise, watch the season 7 episode 16 of _Smallville_ called "Descent". This is the Lex I know; this is the Lex I write.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Not mine.  
**Feedback:** I fiend for it. More this time than ever.

***

**CHAPTER ONE: ILL **

**Description: **Lex is sick. Very sick. Rewind: _The Daily Planet_ is being pimped out to the Global Press, and Lois isn't happy. She isn't happy at all. And, just where is Superman? Chiyu, and I are both Japanese words for cure_._

* * *

Lex is sick. Very sick, in fact. Coughing coughs that rattle windows and fell skyscrapers. Sneezing sneezes that could propel ships and turbine engines. Vomiting rivers of rancid bile. And he has a fever -- a fever that can't match the heat of even the most lascivious, inebriated, casually lustful nights of his youth.

And this is new. He hasn't been sick in a long time. A _very_ long time.

Compulsively he stares at himself in the mirror, wallowing in his misery. He looks like hell. Pale, clammy skin, dark bags under eyes, parched lips…the whole nine. He's surely dehydrated, and there's a slimy film on his tongue. He dare not stray too far from the toilet, and so he sits (in a reverence that reminds him of the couple of times he attended chapel at Excelsior) prostrate and worshipping the porcelain deity known as Commode.

After quite an extended interim, he notices that he is not vomiting anymore. He's not even coughing as much, probably because every expendable liquid has been jettisoned from his body. He stands wretchedly, noting the alteration in equilibrium that he had anticipated, and stumbles to the window of his darkened study. Or lounge. Or bedroom. And just where in delirious perdition is he?

In Smallville. That's right. And in ten years, he has lost his bearings in the place he used to know like the password to his safe-deposit box at LexCorp headquarters. And _that_ feels bad -- worse than the fever and the stinging itch developing on the bottom of his feet.

He takes his shoes off, and his socks in turn, and feels the cool stone under his feet. A limestone floor in the guest bathroom. Solid, antediluvian limestone imported from Egypt -- one of a handful of anachronisms in the otherwise Norman Gothic house -- that was _too decadent_ even for Lex's taste. Or had been -- when he used to care.

He pushes open the doors, and walks out into the, yes, _guest bedroom_. He now remembers thinking earlier that this would be good place to stay, a neutral place. A lab, if you will, in which he would carry out his experiment.

And this sickness…this is exhilarating. There is as much money in illness as health, as anyone knows, and Lex is nothing if not on the constant prowl for sources of new capital. Most insanely rich billionaires are.

He crawls to the bed, hoisting himself into its confines, submitting to his exhaustion and plague, and falls sound asleep, hoping to wake in the morning.

**TWO MONTHS EARLIER**

Election years are a journalist's bread and butter -- an instant cure for a lack of writers, lack of ideas, lack of opinions, lack of debates, and basically the general apathy of a nation that is sometimes too stable for its own good. Which is why Lois was even more furious.

"Kent!" Perry White called, peeking his head through the door of the office. "Lois, where's Kent?"

She broke from an entranced glare at her monitor and then channeled all her venomous energies at Perry. "Got your e-mail."

"Yeah, and they're all running on Sunday, so there's a 4:00 p.m. Friday deadline on all three." She just nodded vacantly.

"Let me guess," she said, her voice tensing, and a little facetious. "Did I misquote an anonymous source?" Perry raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I missed a deadline. It could be that I didn't wear hose that day to work. Or no, no, you caught me kissing a paperboy."

"Bottom-line me Lois; I have no idea what you're talking about."

"What other explanation would there be for these paltry assignments?" She fiercely grabbed a paper off her desktop printer and began reading. "Elevated fluoride levels in tap water? Suspected abuse in local nursing homes? Let me emphasize _local_. Oh, and this is my favorite -- standardized testing in elementary schools. What next -- the back sale at the woman's club?"

"Lois," Perry said, frustrated, "those are perfectly valid articles. Every day can't bring thwarted attempts at world domination and subversive governmental cover-ups."

"Perry, I haven't gotten stories this lame since I was an intern from Met U."

"And half of the current interns at Met U would give their eye-tooth to cover any one of those stories."

"Perry, I wouldn't give my stapler to cover _any_ of them -- and if you expect me to believe this doesn't have anything to do with that meeting you're going to at four, then charge the Brooklyn Bridge to my Visa card." With a flare, she grabbed her purse and produced said card. "8421--"

"Lois, you and I both know that it's ridiculous that you're taking this personally."

"...5638492..." she continued.

"The Planet has over 160 in-house correspondents, over 1500 staff total -- " he paused.

"...65373. Expiration date 06/2019."

"I can't talk to you when you're being irrational," he said and left out of the door.

"NO!" Lois shouted leaving the office and following behind him, gesturing with the provocative e-mail in hand, "What's _irrational_ is the fact that four new _men_ and six-freelancers are being given the political beat while the people, dare I say _women_, that put the air in this ship's sails are relegated to PTA meetings."

Perry turned around, observing the ranting spectacle that was trailing him.

"I admire you for picking up the women's torch, but, um, Barbara Walters kind of beat you to it. Besides, this is an election year -- "

"My point exactly," Lois interrupted.

"AND," Perry rebounded, "we are competing with every paper, not in the city, not in the county, not even in the state -- but in the country and beyond. This election is going to decide who will be the next leader of the free world, not to mention various congressmen and state representatives. You know as well as anyone that it's our job to put that prizefight into words. We can't do that effectively from _The Planet_ lunchroom."

"Or, apparently, from the desks of some of the most respected journalists in the world," she countered. Perry eyes met hers.

"Sometimes I think you forget that this is my paper," he said. The statement took Lois aback. "I have a meeting. Tell Kent I want a reply to my e-mail, voicemail, and memo by the time I get back...or he can find employment elsewhere." With that he grabbed a folder off of a desk and headed out of the main door.

"Uuuggghhh!" Lois sighed dramatically, storming back into her office.

She slumped into her chair cross-armed, and gave her monitor another look of disgust. She'd gone undercover among the dregs of Metropolis, she'd put hundreds of miles on her car in a matter of days, she'd risked life and limb, and she'd done more "exposés" on a particular follicly-challenged and sociopathic billionaire than she thought possible. But she had never been as daunted as she was contemplating her ride to Pleasant Meadows Funeral, er, Convalescent Home. She perused her options again. Maybe she would do the piece on standardized testing first. There had to be some political relevance there.

Enter Clark.

"Hey Lois," he chirped, entering the office disheveled, bumbling and typically late. "Sorry -- "

" -- I'm late." Lois finished, exasperated. "Check your e-mail, voicemail and interoffice mail. Perry says your job depends on it."

"What?" Clark said, rushing into his chair and logging on. She could hear him reading frantically in an undertone. "Mmmm, don't see anything _that_ urgent in his note. Certainly not anything that should threaten my job."

"Maybe the fact that you never respond, are _always_ a day late and a dollar short, and don't own an iron is--collectively--the crux of the problem." Clark didn't seem to hear her; he was too frazzled by his job security, or his perceived lack there of.

"I mean, did he actually _say_ that my job depends on it?" Lois couldn't believe he was sincerely worried.

"Clark, you aren't going anywhere," she sighed. "What are your assignments?"

"Only one," he said, finally putting down his attaché case and taking off his sport's jacket, "Projections on this year's swing voters."

"In-cred-i-ble!" Lois exclaimed, providing Clark with whatever jolt he would have gotten from the coffee he had been sipping -- if he were actually affected by caffeine. "You know what, I'll give myself my own assignment today, 'Ten Reasons I Hate Working for _The Daily Planet_.' Point one: sharing an office with the hopelessly messy Clark Kent."

"Ouch. Someone woke up on the wrong side of her broomstick this morning," he teased.

"Shut-up Clark," she countered. "Besides, I have a bar-mitzvah to report on."

"What?" Clark asked. "What are you talking about?"

"You know that meeting's today -- the Global Press meeting."

"Yeah," Clark said, with a vague remembrance coming across his face. "We had a meeting about that, didn't we, about six months ago. We were the last major paper to jump on board. But, I thought that was a formality to placate our affiliates?"

"And, as usual, you thought wrong. If you recall, the basic run-down of that meeting was, 'even though we're affiliating ourselves with a media conglomerate, fear not -- no jobs will be cut and the ideology of this paper will not be compromised.'"

"Yeah," Clark said, but doubt crossed his face. "Why? You know something I don't?"

"Only that gradually the meatier stories are one by one being outsourced to 'associates' and 'free-lancers.'" She paused. "And men."

"Oh, c'mon, Lois," Clark began, peeking out from behind his monitor. "That battle cry is so twentieth century. I mean, I'll sit Shiva with you on the good-old days of keeping scoops in the family, but the feministic kvetching is a stretch."

"OK, what's up with the Jewish references?"

"You started it with the bar-mitzvah mention."

"And clearly you couldn't handle it. So, note to self: ixnay the ebrewhay." Clark just chuckled, shaking his head.

"I'm going to let you seep a little, while I...get started."

And there they sat in silence, Clark madly googling away, while Lois did some combination of brooding and collecting numbers of local elementary school principals. At least a half-hour went by that way until there was a knock at the door.

"People still knock?" Lois asked, incredulous, "Come in." It was Robby, the new intern.

"Doing my weekly fluff piece on Superman sightings, and you know I always -- "

"I know," Lois sighed, "you always start with me."

"You're finishing people's sentences again," Clark muttered. Lois ignored the jab.

"Sorry, kid, haven't seen him in weeks."

"Thanks anyway," Robby said, and when he left the sounds of tapping keyboards and machines warming up and printing were restored.

"Seems like the big issue this time around is the constitutional ban," Clark said after some time. "There are referendums being drafted in twenty-six states. A lot of people don't feel like big companies like Microsoft, Disney and LexCorp should be able to have a non-voting representative in Congress." He paused. "I don't even know how that happened in the _first_ place." His audience was a million miles away.

"Where do you think he is?" she suddenly asked.

"Who?" Clark asked.

"Superman," Lois clarified, trance-like. Clark gave a blank shrug. "I mean, there was a time when he was around everyday, fighting crime, saving lives, kissing babies, and smiling for cameras. Now, if I didn't know better, I would think he was dead."

"Just because you haven't seen him doesn't mean he's dead -- or not still helping people."

"I know _that_ Clark, it's just..." she paused a beat. The words weren't coming. "I don't know."

"You miss him?" Clark ventured.

"No," Lois snapped back. Clark was actually surprised at her tone. "How can you miss Superman? It's not like he's my brother, or boyfriend, or workmate."

"Then why do you care you haven't seen him?" Clark asked. Lois scrunched her face. It took her a while to answer.

"Because I guess I feel safer _seeing_ him being Superman, than just knowing he's out there somewhere doing it." She looked embarrassed, and absently smoothed her skirt. "I guess that makes sense."

"Yeah," Clark reassured her. "It does...in a way, I guess."

"Enough about that." She stood and grabbed her purse and laptop. "I'm heading out, but I should be back by lunch. Turns out there are a few places where hopefully I can kill about fifteen birds with one stone and –– ," she paused, registering a look of disgust, "get this standardized testing story knocked out by tomorrow morning." Then she vanished behind the door.

It was a couple minutes before Clark peeked out of the window and saw her leave out of the main door and cross the street to the parking garage.

"He misses you too," he whispered.


	2. Crumbs

**CHAPTER TWO: CRUMBS**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers._

* * *

Lois descended the portico stairs of the Metropolis School Board, satisfied only in the fact that the ordeal was over. Loaded down with a crate of hardcopy reports (how quaint), she was at least getting some exercise out of it. She glanced at the time on her cell phone as she flipped it open. It was 3:50.

"Clark," she said, after settling down into her car. "Yeah, it's me....In front of the school board. Turns out a mind-numbing amount of information falls under quote unquote _student confidentiality_. I practically had to pull out my press card and a copy of the Constitution to get what I _did_ get...Oh, it gets better -- I have a _crate_ of -- ," and on cue, said crate tipped over on the passenger side seat, spilling an ocean of paper out into the floor. Lois sighed. "The crate just fell...The crate of _hardcopies_...Hardcopies of tests scores between 2005 -- 2015...Of course I'm not reading that load of doctored crap. I'll skim the major figures, but I think I can probably scrounge up some parental comments if I lurk around some schools as they let out and use my talent for journalistic flair as filler...Naw, I'll probably do that tomorrow. I'm on my way to the old folk's home." She chuckled. "And just when have I _ever_ been politically correct, Clark?" She started up the car. "Anyway, I probably won't make it back to the office, so, um, see you tomorrow. Unless I see you sooner...Yeah Clark," she said and hung up.

She pulled out of the parking lot, and into the busy traffic. Sometimes she wished she could catch the train during work hours, but "that wouldn't be efficient," as she had been reminded more than once, although the perpetual downtown traffic _couldn_'_t_ be any better. Her mood was in no way assisted by the fact that she was famished. Approaching Rica Ave, she got an idea.

She moseyed over to Ballroom C, as the concierge had advised, and slowly opened the door. There were suits seated everywhere, facing the podium at the far wall and presumably feigning interest in the topic at hand. She took a peek at the easel at the door for the name of the talk in progress. "Policies on the Use of the Diplomacy of Political Delicacy and Discretion in Reporting." Lois shuddered.

The general atmosphere was stale, cheery and synthetic. A clear sign that evil was amiss. But, as she predicted, food was both available and abundant, although rather light, and Lois had every intention of availing herself to it. Besides, as a compulsory member of The Global Press, feeding her crumbs was the least they could do.

She grabbed a plate and filled it up with sliced fruits, microscopic sandwiches, questionable salads, unidentifiable dressings -- the standard fare at such events. Her initial plan had been to eat and run, but watching the scene was more than a little tantalizing. It was as if she had infiltrated the ranks.

She listened to the speech for several minutes, virtually gagging at the "suggestions" that practically called for the castration of all media outlets. Still undetected as far as she knew, she took a seat on the last row. She would finish her "lunch" and then split.

About a half-hour later, she was still sitting there, listening to the talk "The Advantages of Availing Your Outlet of the Resources of the Global Press Reporting Network." With each passing sentence she was becoming more infuriated as some Dr. Norman Klein ranted and raved about the virtues of essentially turning the media into a press version of Wal-Mart: same, same, inoffensive, censored, sameness. Not to mention outsourcing -- she _hated_ outsourcing. She could barely even finish her cucumber sandwich for nausea.

Her controlled fury, not to mention the effort of suppressing the urge to ask some truly pointed questions, was so consuming that it was quite some time before she even _realized_ that someone had taken a seat one chair down from her. She turned to her left: he was staring dead at her.

"Ms. Lane," Lex Luthor said, nodding once before returning his attention to the lecture at hand. _What is he doing here_? She thought to herself.

And now she had the equally vexing distraction of wondering what Lex was doing at a press summit. An elite, but pandering, one at that. Apparently her consternation trumped her chewing, and she soon found herself in a coughing fit. _How typical_, she thought, as she made her way to a bowl of punch -- with pulp in it. _Where is the water_? She combed around coughing, searching, and hacking, before locating a pitcher and pouring herself a cup. Downing it quickly, she paused a moment to collect herself. In her line of sight and coming fast was Perry White.

"What are you doing here?" he growled in the loudest whisper she had ever heard. "I don't recall your receiving an invitation."

"And that would be why I'm leaving," she said, head down and feet poised for flight.

"And what would be the reason you came in the first place?" he asked.

"To grab some lunch," she replied. She would make this quick. "That standardized testing story you gave me was much more consuming than I anticipated, and it was almost 4:00 before I realized it. I just grabbed a couple sandwiches, choked on one, drank some water, and very soon I will be out of the door."

"Really Lois, you push it sometimes," White said, already calming. Lois nodded coyly and headed out the door.

She paused at the concierge desk.

"Enjoying the lectures?" the woman asked cheerfully.

"Delightful," Lois replied, "But, um, I have an appointment elsewhere. So, I was wondering if you knew the best way to this address. There's so much construction going on and detours through downtown, I barely know my way around my own city."

The woman pulled out a map, marking a route with a pencil. "We've been advising people to take Route 481 around the river. Highway 328 should put you off near Pleasant Meadows."

"That sounds great. Thanks a million." Lois said, and slipped out the front door.

Sure enough, Lex Luthor was standing there.

"Ms. Lane," he said without looking up, preoccupied with what was most likely the latest portable communication gadget. She nodded and made her way towards the steps. "Leaving so early?" he called after her.

"Another appointment," she said, slowing for a trifle of a second.

"Or perhaps uninvited," he added. It was enough to stop her, what she was sure he wanted anyway. She looked over her shoulder.

"And you mean to tell me you were?" And why was she furthering the conversation with this guy?

"Non-press representative," he clarified coolly.

"Are you a legitimate member of anything?" Lois snarled.

He tucked the device into his inner coat pocket. "Touché," he replied with grin -- a grin that was too sincerely amused for Lois' liking. With that he turned, leaning against the stone piling, and finally lit the cigarette. Lois presumed this was the end of the conversation, and made her way for her car.

Forty-five minutes and ten levels of hell worth of aggravation later, Lois was at the front desk of Pleasant Meadows...Health Facility? OK, so it wasn't even a convalescent home. Instead, it looked like a rather large and excessively decorated hospital, where every ward was hospice. Perry would _pay_.

"I was wondering if Nurse Karen Lancaster was on today," Lois said to a rather dispassionate woman sitting at the front desk. She typed away for what Lois presumed would be a second. But one, then two and possibly even three minutes went by, and Lois wondered if the lady was even still aware of her presence. "Um, do you know -- " she began again.

"Floor Seven," the woman said abrasively, as if she had known the answer for some time. Thankful that _that_ was over, Lois made her way to the line of elevators just beyond a waiting area.

Upon reaching her floor she approached a nurse's station. She saw Karen immediately.

"Hi Karen, she said.

"Lois," the nurse said, approaching. "Good to see you. What brings you here?" She gasped slightly. "Don't tell me your Dad -- "

"Absolutely not," Lois assured her, "He's healthier than I've ever been in _my_ life. I was just working on a little story and was wondering if you knew where I could do the most damage in the least amount of time."

"And by damage, I hope you mean a _happy_ little story," Karen said, one eyebrow raised. Lois laughed.

"Nothing that's going to compromise your employment," she laughed again. "Basically, I never start a project without an insider." Karen didn't look assuaged. "Don't worry, this thing will be so far in the paper, I'll be surprised if I read it. It's on the quality of care in local nursing homes."

"Of course this isn't a nursing home," Karen said.

"Yeah, I know," Lois began. "Um, it's more on geriatric centers of all types." She took a quick look around, "This place doesn't look especially sinister, but you're the only person I know in the business. Thought you might be able to --" Lois stopped. "Throw me a bone, Karen," she whined, "I got saddled with this snoozer, and I want to knock it out by Thursday at the latest." It was Karen's turn to laugh.

"Well, Mr. Jennings just got transported here from Bellside Convalescent Home, not two days ago. I think he was under some..._questionable_ care. It worsened his condition. That's why he's here. You might want to talk to him. He's pretty compliant, and usually lucid -- a rare combination around here."

"Point the way," Lois said, following Karen to what she noted was Room 735.

"Mr. Jennings," Karen called in her most professionally condescending voice. "Mr. Jennings?" Mr. Jennings's mind seemed to wake up about a minute after his eyes did -- which was not a pleasant sight to behold. Lois suddenly hoped she would die young and beautiful. "Mr. Jennings, you have a visitor."

"Ethel?" he asked.

"No," Karen replied, "Lois...Lois Lane."

"Who's Ethel?" Lois asked. Karen shrugged.

"I don't want to talk to no Lois!" Mr. Jennings yelled.

"Sure you do," Karen said, taking his hand gently. He acted as if he were being attacked and began flailing uncontrollably. "Mr. Jennings," Karen called to him, and making some attempt at restraining him, "you have to calm down."

"No!" he began to yell, to the extent that he could. Karen let go of him, and when she did, he suddenly fell back and took up crying. "Oh Ethel," he moaned.

Both women stared at him for a moment, bewildered. Karen leaned over. "Let's go," she whispered.

When they reached the hall, Lois exhaled. "What happened to good ole' Mr. Jennings?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Karen said, doing an increasingly poorer job of stifling a snicker.

"That is _not_ funny," Lois said, both horrified and amused by Karen's reaction.

"Sorry," Karen said, still quaking with laughter. A group of uniformed persons walked down the hall, one of them excusing herself as she passed. "It's just that you get used to it around here. Am I evil?"

"Who are they?" Lois asked.

"Um," Karen thought for a moment, "Disease control."

"They come often?"

"Yeah. Everyone's resistance is low around here. Somebody's always coming down with something bizarre."

"But do they usually come in packs like that?" The men and women were milling around the nurse's station.

"Not usually; I think protocol is that Burt contacts Shirley Bates." Lois's face registered intrigue. Karen's face registered annoyance. "Lois, it's probably nothing."

"Who's Shirley Bates?" Lois said, interest piqued. Karen sighed.

"The big cheese at Disease Control."

"Thank you," Lois said, turning and leaving.

"For what? Where are you going?" Karen said to Lois's back.

"For my story," she called out, as she turned the corner.


	3. Machine

**CHAPTER THREE: MACHINE  
**_See Chapter 1 for story headers_

* * *

Murphy Crandle was one of Lex's advisors. And even that was saying too much.

"So Mr. Luthor,", he began. Murphy was so compliant, eager, spineless and otherwise repulsive that if it were not for his cunning ability to establish access to the most impenetrable resources, Lex would have discarded him long ago. In addition to his infuriating lack of gumption, he was older than Lex, sweaty, and overweight. It was a combination that sometimes left Lex more ornery than usual. Murphy was sitting in the chair in front of Lex's desk as Lex entered, and he looked out of place among the other manicured people that frequented the upper echelons of LuthorCorp's hierarchy. "Alison Freehling, JoAnne Spells and Harold Rankins are all in the Committee for the Preservation of a Free Market Society."

"Excellent," Lex said, sashaying towards his desk. "That has a…_ring_ to it." After the outcry over the economic downturn of the last decade and the near socialization of the federal government, Lex made his move to get into the legislative branch through the back door: non-voting corporate representatives in Congress. The pendulum had swung in his favor, and LuthorCorp was no longer duking it out with the crying lobbyists in the hallway—it waltzed in with the Senators themselves. However, the wave was turning against him, and "political pundits" were whipping out their copies of the Constitution and crying foul. It was an annoyance that was distracting Lex from his _real_ work. An annoyance that would have been "dealt with" long ago if so many other companies who had rode LuthorCorp's coattails in the Capitol Building weren't involved. But, Lex would see to it that this latest effort to expel him from the hot seat of politics would be squashed. Besides, it could pose more serious problems in the future if he didn't succeed. "No way will this bill make it to the floor."

"That's the thing," Murphy said. Lex slowed.

"What do you mean 'that's the thing'?"

"We're starting to have problems with Allison," Murphy explained.

"Allison?" Lex repeated, mildly perturbed.

"And Harold," Murphy continued.

"And _Harold_?" Lex echoed, more surprised. "And when you say 'problems' you _mean_?"

"They are starting to feel uncomfortable with being such vocal advocates of corporate representation in Congress."

"Really?" Lex said, leaving his desk and walking towards the front wall. "And you heard this from _them_? Or from one of their puppets?"

"Well, I heard it directly from Harold. Allison's people faxed -- "

"Faxed?" Lex spat, spinning around. "Faxed? Since when do we get faxes when we want information?" He looked infuriated. "And from her _tools_?

"Well, Harold seemed to show some concern about appearing too mercantile, too easily swayed by money."

"Ahhh," Lex said, and began punching absently into a wall panel, "and Allison?'

"Her..._fax_," Murphy began delicately, squinting on the last word. Lex grinded his jaw as he heard the words again. "Her fax seemed to indicate she was having similar qualms."

"I can understand that," Lex said casually. He looked intently as the windows all transitioned to a darker tint, shading the office from a brightening sun. He then walked over to his desk, and resumed work.

"That's all?" Murphy asked after a moment.

"That's all," Lex said calmly, without looking up. "Why, is there something else?"

"Um," Murphy said, typically void of thought. "Only if you thought so?"

"Like if I thought -- ," Lex pursed his lips, proceeding in a sardonic tone. "Let's say I thought that their sudden urges of integrity, though commendable, were poorly timed. That such poor timing can be detrimental to a Senator who is currently seeking to be reelected. That reelection is a reward to the powerful, not the righteous. And that they unfortunately fail to realize that power is the bastard child of opportunists and the _mercantile_." He paused. Suddenly calm again. "Hopefully, they can be corrected from their wrong course before they become too far gone." Lex peered up from his monitor, and met Murphy's eyes with the steely glare that rattled him like a starved puppy. "See what you can do."


	4. Hunch

**CHAPTER FOUR: HUNCH** (Wednesday)  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers._

* * *

Lois waltzed into work the next day a renewed woman, or at least a less disgruntled one, and Perry White was the first person that crossed her path.

"Morning Lois," he said. "Crashed any events lately?"

"Ha, ha," she deadpanned, "and, I need to meet with you today." Okay, she was feeling a little playful. "Stat."

"Stat, huh?" he said, eyebrow raised and interest piqued. "What about?" Lois drew a little closer.

"The nursing home article."

He rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Leave well enough alone, Lois," Perry sighed, already tuning out.

"No, really -- I think I might have stumbled on something big while looking into the abuse." Perry paused, intrigued.

"I think I might have a few minutes after lunch. Meet me in my office at one, sharp." He looked up. "Oh, and Lois, see if you can get me that education article early. We might be able to fit it with our school themed "Lifestyle" Section on Friday."

"Sure, Boss -- as soon as I get back to my office," Lois called, flashing a giddy grin, and then flitted towards her office. Tossing her purse to the side, she logged into her computer with jolly panache. She would get the best of this..._career lull_ if it was the last thing she did. She looked at the box of files from yesterday, shrugged, and then picked up the receiver.

"Hello...Yes. Lois Lane...Is a Shirley Bates available?...Yes, please." She waited to be connected and then had the stunning realization that she wasn't really prepared. _This is what that degree is for_, she thought as she heard a breath on the other side of the phone.

"Hello. Shirley Bates. How may I help you?" the woman said on the other side.

"Hello, this is Lois Lane, with -- "

"I know who you are," the woman said, matter-of-factly, but rather blankly. Lois didn't know if that was good or bad, but soldiered on.

"If you had a moment, I was just calling to find out what the general procedure for containing communicative disease is in area hospitals and health-care facilities," she asked. "It's for a general purpose story I'm doing."

"Well, Ms. Lane, I appreciate the fact that you are coming to the source." Lois was surprised; to call her job thankless was an understatement. "We have three tiers of operators: the federal, state and local level. Our organization is operated from the bottom up, with several main areas of concentration: Bioterrorism, Chemical Agents, Radiation Emergencies, Natural Disasters and Epidemics...." _Blah, blah, blah_, Lois thought as the woman droned on. The truth was that she knew these procedures like the back of her hand. She would hardly be a reporter if she didn't know the mechanics of major agencies. Even what she didn't know would be a search engine away. She had researched this much on her cell-phone. She waited for the woman to take breath...three minutes later.

"Fascinating, Ms. Bates. So, to apply it to a real life situation," _Yeah, that sounded natural_. "Why would a group of CDC officers walk into a, say, convalescent center." There was a pause.

"Dunno, could be anything."

_That's it?_ Lois thought. "For example?"

"I don't know," Shirley replied, distractedly. "Got something in mind?"

"Um, not really," Lois fumbled. She felt the end of the conversation drawing near and by the most generous estimates had learned approximately nothing. "Is it a common occurrence?"

"Could be," Ms. Bates said. Lois was losing her.

"And by 'could be' you mean how often?" Lois asked.

'Mmmm, depends," she answered.

"Depends," Lois echoed flatly. The conversation was dead.

"Well, Ms. Lane, I'm glad that you have curiosity about what we do here. We love to cooperate with the media and work towards making the public more aware. I can send you a pamphlet with more information if you like, Ms. Lane," the woman concluded. "I'm sorry, I have some other matters to take care of, but I can transfer you to the secretary, who will get your address, if you'd like that."

"I would," Lois lied. As soon as the woman put her on hold, she hung up. "That was productive," she said out loud, and leaned back in her chair.

She was stunned when someone spoke.

"Good morning, Lois." It was Clark.

"How long you been here?" she asked, shocked.

"The whole time, I watched you come in," Clark explained. Lois glanced at the wall clock.

"Was I _that_ late? I know I went back for my umbrella, but--"

"No, you're not late at all," Clark began. "I thought about what you said yesterday. You were right. I'm sabotaging myself by being so careless. Besides, Perry's threats really scared me." He nodded to himself. "I'm going to start being more organized."

"Um, _Clark_?" Lois said.

"Yeah?"

"You know you can't actually _break_ New Year's resolutions until January, right?"

"Witty," Clark said, wagging a pencil at her. The conversation tapered off for a minute. "Hey, what happened at the nursing home?" Clark suddenly asked.

"It was fantabulous," Lois declared. Clark leaned over from behind his monitor, stunned. He contemplated peering over his glasses for emphasis, but rejected the idea.

"Did you say _fantabulous_?" he asked.

"I think the assignment just might yield a lot more of a story than shortages on fruit cups and Depends," Lois clarified.

"Really?" Clark was all ears. "How?"

Lois leaned in. "Can you keep a secret?" she asked. Clark grinned ironically.

"I've been known to keep a secret or two. What is it?"

"Well, it's all very early still, and mostly speculation. But, I have a hunch that there's an alarming infection breaking out at Pleasant Meadows---alarming enough for them to bring in the troops. Who knows what the implications are for that?" she explained.

"Is that what that phone call was about?" Clark implored.

"Yeah."

"Ran it by Perry yet?"

"I meet with him at one. We'll see what he thinks. I don't want to get too far into it if he just decides to veto it in the end," she replied. "Besides, if that phone call is any indication, I have my work cut out for me." Clark just nodded.

"Sounds like it's going to take some legwork. Of course, if you need any help with it -- "

"Back-off bottom-feeder. This is my byline."

Clark laughed. "Well, just for that, I have lunch with the governor today."

Lois snapped to attention, "Are you kidding? For that campaign issue story?" Clark nodded gleefully. "You suck, Clark."

"It's not what you think. To be America's heartland, this place barely has a pulse. We _are__n__'t_ one of the states involved in the Congress referendums, we're actually _supporting_ the UN Crop Production Initiative in Ethiopia -- we're not even in a recession. School test scores are pleasantly mediocre, even good in some districts; we don't have any Congressman being re-elected. Want to know what Kansas' big issue is?"

"What?" Lois asked.

"Prescription drugs." Clark chuckled. "I thought everybody threw in the towel on that issue ten years ago."

"Well, that pathetic list sounds like, as usual, the Kansas conscience being thoroughly manipulated by LuthorCorp," Lois said.

"But it's my job to act like it's being led by the governor. _And_," he suddenly added, "did you know that the governor's vegan? I was notified that we'd be dining at that new franchise on Ginnes Avenue -- Caillou. Which means green salad and vegan jello -- gelatin with no meat product."

"Gelatin has _meat_ product?" Lois asked.

Clark furrowed his brow, "Do you think Caillou serves steaks?"

"Yeah, right along with brain you obviously didn't get at birth."

The door swung open.

"Team meeting starts any minute." It was Rebecca, the resident everywoman who was some cross between the secretary, go-to-girl, floor manager, and savior. Lois had been tempted to tip Rebecca more than once.

Clark and Lois filed out of the room, down the hall, and into the little opening in the field of cubicles for the cub reporters and administrative staff. Doug, the "team leader" (another innovation of the merger) was clearing his throat and beginning yet another one of his choreographed, alpha-male, one-too-many-hours-of-seminar-training-trained daily rants. Lois sighed, then promptly tuned out. She leaned over to Clark, whispering. "Does he like to hear himself talk, or is he really that fake?"

"Orange and grey, huh?" was Clark's muted reply. Lois snapped her head around at the non-sequitur to discover that Clark was talking to Rebecca, who was on his other side. Lois couldn't quite make out what Rebecca was saying, but from Clark's side of the conversation, she deduced they were talking about tea...or no, Clark clothing selection. Orange tie, grey suit. Lois took a look herself. Clark looked typically coordinated, though conservative. She was more impressed by the lack of wrinkles. Hmph, nothing to write home about. She tried to eavesdrop more, but their conversation reached sub-phonic levels, and she guessed Doug's speech might be more interesting after all.

The meeting was over soon enough, and the crowd disbursed. Lois made her way back to her office and resumed working. It was probably a full ten minutes before Clark joined her again.

"Did you know that all quality ties are cut on the bias? That's why that green tie curls all the time; I got that from a Secret Santa. Turns out it's not cut on the bias."

"Did Doug mention that in the meeting?" Lois asked, face as sincere as she could muster. "I wasn't really paying attention."

"No...Actually, he didn't." Clark said, mostly ignoring her.

"You know she likes you," Lois distractedly added.

"Who?" Clark said.

"Don't play dumb, Clark," Lois said, rising and moseying over to his desk. She perched herself on the corner, pinning him between his chair and the wall. Clark was a flight risk in tough conversations. "You know Rebecca likes you."

"Nah," Clark said, artificially immersing himself in his almost-empty inbox.

"No?" Lois said. "I bet this month's rent that if you ask her out she'll say yes." Clark looked up and then shook his head. "Why not? Because you know you'd lose." With that she rose and headed back to her desk. In a monument to delayed reactions, Clark replied a full minute later.

"I'm not attracted to her, Lois."

"Excuse me?" Lois asked.

"Rebecca. I'm not attracted to her."

"So you always whisper sweet nothings to receptionists as you discuss the finer points of neckwear?"

"I wasn't whispering 'sweet nothings' in her ear. We were conversing. It's even _more_ astonishing that you suddenly find Doug so enthralling."

"Oh, Mr. Evasive, don't turn this back on me. You guys have been flirting like a couple of teenagers for over a month. If you don't ask her out, I just might for you."

"But you wouldn't," Clark replied, "because you would hate to set her up for disappointment."

"The disappointment of you saying yes?" Lois asked sarcastically.

"Look—stay out of my love life," Clark said, a little peeved.

"Or lack thereof," Lois muttered. Clark scowled and returned to work. Lois didn't. "You know, Clark. Would it kill you if just once you took a chance on somebody?"

"Um, Lois, I'm an active dater," Clark replied.

"Those aren't dates Clark. Those are bland, one-time, social interactions arranged by your acquaintances who are tired of staring at a single and moping son, friend or workmate. Or by women who are canoodling their way into _The Planet_."

"Wow," Clark said, a little stung. "Thanks for that. You're a real friend."

"No, Clark," Lois began, before returning to his desk and taking on a seriously less mocking tone. "I know I joke around, but in all seriousness, you're a diamond in the rough. You're eligible in ten different ways."

"Spare me, Lois," Clark replied.

"I'm serious," Lois said, softening her tone.

"Really?" Clark asked, half incredulous and half fishing for a sincere description of himself from Lois. "How?"

"You're twenty-nine years old. You're handsome. Accomplished. Sober -- a biggie these days. You're even a mama's boy. I have a small army of girlfriends who would give their Louis-Vuitton purses to bump into you in a jazz club. But you aren't there. You're spending your evenings holed up in a seventh floor condo, doing...." Lois groped for an idea. _Saving the world from the evils of modern society?_ Clark thought. "Doing God knows what," she finally said. "When's the last time you saw someone you wanted and went after her?"

"I have," Clark shrugged.

"No, I mean, when's the last time you just really followed your heart and allowed yourself to soak in everything that's thrilling and beautiful and terrifying about infatuation, and love and passion." She pointed her finger. "_And_ without being so caught up in orchestrating this incredible production that's some cross between debonair and deceitful. You would think you were trying to hide being a child molester."

_Or superhero_.

"Sure, but who can you trust these days? How do you know if someone is really worthy of your trust. Or really..." he tapered off.

"Or what?" Lois urged.

"Or if they even want it?"

Lois looked him in the eye and placed her hand on his. "Clark, if you ever gave someone a chance to love you, you just might be surprised."

**LATER THAT DAY**

Perry took the egg timer he had on his desk and wound it to ten minutes. "OK, Lois," he grunted, "shoot."

Lois looked at the timer as it ticked away, and sighed. Of all the things that had gotten deep-sixed with the merger, how on earth did the egg-timer survive?

"I went to several, um, convalescent centers last week," Lois began, "and stumbled upon a raid from the CDC--"

"Raid?" Perry asked.

"Well, not _raid_, but two folks croaked and the CDC was there. And it was weird." Lois said and stopped.

"_Huh_?" Perry asked, irritation flashing like heat vision. "You ask to meet with me for an auxiliary project, and this is your pitch?"

"You know I hate the egg timer."

Perry looked at it, spun it back to zero (_ding_), and then stared at Lois. "You have nine minutes."

"I was at the convalescent home following up on my assignment when several representatives from the CDC arrived and..." Lois recounted her experience. "It is my opinion," she concluded, "that there is potential threat in these homes that, up to this point, may have been wholly unreported on. I don't need to tell you what relevance that could have to our community, our elderlycommunity, particularly in this election year."

Perry clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "Ummm," he uttered distractedly. "I don't know, Lois."

"Seriously, the potential here is real," Lois added.

"I know. I see where you're coming from," Perry said, finally meeting her eyes. "I'm just…underwhelmed."

"I'm sorry, I'm not following," Lois said. Actually, she was following, but she needed a point to defend.

"You know what gets me going these days, Lois?" Perry asked her, his eyes beaming with renewed attention. "How Liberia went from being a cesspool to a leading trade figure in North Africa."

"I'm domestic, sir."

"Or why President Fitzgerald invoked executive privilege in regards to his expense accounts, only for them to be subpoenaed two months later and turn out to be totally clean. What was he hiding?"

"Kenneth's covering that."

"And why all three of Mayor Sackett's challengers for the nomination dropped out within three days of each other."

Lois sighed hard. Then got up to leave.

"Lois," Perry called, "if you can give that story some teeth, come back."

Lois nodded and left.


	5. Patent

**CHAPTER FIVE: PATENT**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers._

* * *

In the annals of human knowledge, there was ample evidence of the value of hard work, money, research…and systemic manipulation. Yet the purpose of sleep was, until now, scientifically unproven, and thus was an activity that Lex largely reserved for the weekends. That fact in mind, he was in some version of being sound asleep when his intercom stirred him awake: a single beep, followed by a second, longer one. The sound was obnoxious during the day; at three o'clock in the morning it was infuriating.

"Mr. Luthor, you have a visitor," came the voice; it was Gary, his night watchman. It was rare to receive a visitor at such an hour at his condo in Metropolis. However, it was a virtual non-occurrence to receive a visitor _at all_ in Midvale, the suburb Lex called home when his work week was done.

"Who is it?" Lex inquired, irritated.

"Murphy, sir."

Lex didn't know whether to roll back over or to see the man at once. With Murphy, it was always a gamble. After some deliberation, he responded.

"Tell him I will see him in my study." Lex put on a robe and made his way down the dimly lit hall. Surprisingly, Murphy beat him there.

"Mr. Luthor," he said rising. Lex motioned for him to sit. He was taken with Murphy's alertness and complete lack of any indication that it was such an ungodly hour.

"Tell me. What is it…," Lex began, sauntering over to his drink cart to have a sip of brandy, "that is so pressing that you drove an hour out to Midvale at three o'clock in the morning to report?" Murphy hesitated to respond. "Please, quell my curiosity."

"A confidential notice was sent by encrypted electronic courier just a few hours ago to your office in Metropolis. I have information that a petition was sent to the US patent's office to have one of LuthorCorp's trade secrets declassified."

"A daily occurrence, Murphy," Lex said, knocking back the brandy. It was always more satisfying at night. "Intellectual property rights violation is the sincerest form of flattery." He poured himself another shot. "Where are my manners? Would you like a drink, Murphy?"

"You've forgotten Mr. Luthor. I'm four years sober." Lex sneered to himself. There were always fresh reasons to like Murphy _less_. "Ah, Mr. Luthor. The petition was for the chemical composition of kryptlexium."

Lex spun around in horror. "Kryptlexium?"

"Rest assured that the petition was summarily denied," Murphy confirmed.

"Names?" was his reply.

"The details of the request were sealed with the rest of the file. We still don't know."

Lex stood in agitated wonder. "Kryptlexium," he repeated. "I haven't thought of that word in…years. One of many of my father's failures I stumbled upon while settling his estate." His voice dropped to a low growl. "Kryptlexium was the bane of my youth."

Murphy looked on with a mix of acute curiosity and the ever present trepidation that he had for his boss. "How so?" he ventured. But Lex was elsewhere, silent and still. The tumbler sat limp in his outstretched hand. Lex stared through it as if trying to divine the answers to his unuttered questions from a crystal ball. He spoke after a time.

"The list of potential inquirers is maddeningly long," Lex said, talking to no one in particular. "The petition could have even been a shot in the dark by someone just looking to pick up a scrap from the LuthorCorp trash heap." Still, his agitation grew. "Why now?"

"Maybe because Superman is missing," Murphy responded. Lex seemed to suddenly remember his presence.

"Pardon?" Lex said.

"I said maybe because Superman is missing." Lex registered a look of distilled fascination. Murphy's answer was as intriguing as it was uncharacteristically insightful: Lex typically had the theories and Murphy the facts. Not the other way around.

"Why would you say that?" Lex asked.

Murphy shrugged. "Just an idea, sir," he said. "Anyway, Carlton suspects the FBI is involved. He has been looking into persons or agencies that might have filed the petition; he has contacts at the patent's office."

"No," Lex insisted. "Tell him to stop searching. Have everyone stop searching. I'll handle _this _investigation _myself_."

"As you wish," Murphy said, rising. He walked towards the door.

"And in the congressional matter? Where are we?" Lex asked.

"No updates since yesterday, sir," Murphy explained. "It's only three o'clock in the morning."

And with that banality, Lex drank his brandy.


	6. Fears

**CHAPTER SIX: FEARS  
_See chapter 1 for story headers._**

* * *

Sunday night. Clark sat straight up in bed, breathing hard, scorching hot and quaking in a sickening dread. He was also staring at the luminous blue outlines of the skeletons of a pig-tailed girl washing her hands at a bathroom sink and an amorous couple wrestling in the dark. It was a second before he realized he was seeing in x-ray, and he forced his vision back to normal.

He was waking from a nightmare -- again.

The same nightmare that he had been waking up from for...weeks, and he couldn't shake it.

It always started differently. Sometimes he was flying, sometimes walking. He might be surrounded in flames, in ice, or even in outer space. In one dream he was at _The Planet_, and in another he was seventeen again and back in Smallville -- which was _really_ odd. But it always ended the same way: Superman would suddenly bullet towards the sky, higher and higher, as fast as he could, a hundred stories high, as a little girl dangled from a flag pole. And then, just as he would get to her, just as their hands would touch, she would disappear in a grand explosion of flames and kryptonite.

And that's when he would wake up. Breathing hard. Scorching hot. Frantic. And seeing in x-ray.

Clark stumbled from his bed, willing himself cool as he made his way to the kitchen. He turned on every light, every TV, and every radio as he did, bombarding his senses to flush out the panic. Leaning against the counter top, he impulsively poured himself a cold cup of day-old coffee. Then he took a firm breath, tumbled to the living room, and eased onto the couch.

He glanced at the clock on his phone on the coffee table -- it was only 3:00 AM. It was going to be a long night.

The screaming TV caught his attention, and after a moment he realized that reruns of _Lost_ were the last thing a person horrified by rescues needed to be watching. He killed the TV, and everything else, and made his way back to bed, contemplating sleep but dreading dreaming. His fears were unfounded on all accounts, as an hour later he found himself lying in bed, wide awake and recounting the finer points of the most bizarre rescue he had _never_ attempted. The details swirled in his head over and over again like the most twisted of Dali paintings on loop.

It was enough to put a superhero into retirement.

Semi-retirement anyway. He inconspicuously put out the occasional fire. He'd diverted the path of a couple of rogue scud-missiles. Lost children became found. He even thwarted the occasional nefarious deed that might land him on the local evening news.

But not in Metropolis.

Never in Metropolis. Because if Metropolis was where he met his destiny, it was also the place where he met his fate: a future of being inextricably locked in the dungeon of truth, justice and the American Way. Sometimes Clark wondered if from the grave, Jonathan Kent still held him to the debilitating secrecy, unwanted heroism and crushing loneliness that made Superman the celebrated bastion of world security, while the Clark inside was racked with the kind of disquiet that made him long to be _only_ human.

The simple truth was…Superman was killing Clark.

In keeping with his reckless behavior of late, he'd sometimes step out onto the balcony and float, in his street clothes, down to the ground. Too hard-wired for stealth to land on the sidewalk, he'd land behind a tree, perhaps tucked behind an alley. No one had ever noticed that a man had fallen -- drifted -- from the sky, or if they had, they hadn't reacted to such an unlikely scenario. He'd walk barefoot down the street, taking stock of the other midnight wanderers, who, for whatever reason, had found solace in the cloak of darkness. There were persons you'd associate with night: vagabonds, cops, clubbers stumbling in from dancing, and women devoted to the world's oldest profession. But here on the sidewalks were the others, the persons who were out of their element, unfamiliar with the business of Night. In their eyes, he'd see something alien, something familiar, some vote of solidarity -- and it would always be just enough to pull him through.

And that's when he'd make his way home.


	7. Cold

**CHAPTER SEVEN: COLD  
**_See Chapter 1 for story headers_

* * *

Lois stumbled into her apartment after another long day of at the office, and immediately set to work on her second job. It had been a full week since she had run her idea past Perry, and his reaction had been lukewarm at best. Even more discouraging, she was getting more and more frustrated with just how little concrete info was showing up. The CDC wasn't giving her anything and -- worse -- didn't seem to be covering anything up. Her two suspect patients, while not particularly on their deathbeds, had been knocking on heaven's door for a while. Even worse, the family had declined autopsies, a growing problem these days.

The trail was cold.

In fact the only real thing that kept her from throwing in the towel was one maddeningly haunting element: her instincts.

Lois instincts were killer, and more than once she had been eventually vindicated on stories she had entered in to with little more than a wing and prayer. Non-sequitors, moments of surrealism, loud noises and paper trails all called to her when others would barely notice, and the further her instincts led her, the more she began to trust them.

But even she was starting to doubt.

So she promised herself that if today nothing came forth, she would drop this thing all together and resign herself to whatever scraps Perry tossed her way.

She paused for a minute, deciding that it might be a long night, and went to make her "investigative office" (otherwise known as her living room) more hospitable for research. She ditched the "power" clothes she had been donning all day and changed into a ratty pair of jeans and a big Tweety Bird t-shirt she'd gotten from an ex-boyfriend. She toyed with pouring herself a glass of Bordeaux, then decided coffee might be more productive, and grabbed the Folger's.

Settling into a pillow on the floor, she opened a binder filled with copies and shook her head at just how easy it was for her to get information she wasn't entitled to. She had been to twelve nursing homes and convalescent centers over the last couple of days, and virtually none of them had given her more than a pretense of resistance before allowing her access to the visitor records. Some had been downright eager to be of service. One women had closed the front desk before running off two doubled-sided, sorted and stapled copies of the visitor log that went back a full month. Another woman, whose location used an electronic sign in, even gave her a digital copy of the visitor log. Only one location didn't cooperate, and it was just as well, since she had more than enough to comb through already.

See, the theory was that if the CDC was concerned enough about a couple of deaths to send out a response team, even if it turned out to be a false alarm, then there would have had to have been a precedent for concern--which should mean they would have visited, say, other homes or hospitals in the area. And maybe, just maybe, if she saw some pattern, or if she could determine suspect cases, she might (who knows?) figure something out.

So there she sat, as one hour turned into two and the foghorn from the bread factory across town signaled that it was 11 pm. The work was tedious, and she was near to calling it a night when her phone rang.

"Hello," she answered.

"Do you know who this is?" the voice responded.

"Yeah -- Chloe," Lois replied. She knew that voice anywhere. Besides, Chloe was the only one of her acquaintances who always asked.

"Okay, you know where I am?"

"Judging from the past --," Lois said, standing up and opening her front door. Sure enough, there was Chloe standing there, phone to her ear.

"And it never gets old," Chloe said, sashaying in. "I didn't know if you would still be up."

"Or out on a date?" Lois added.

"Or sound asleep," Chloe said jokingly, walking into the kitchen with a bottle of blood red liquid. "This stuff is phenomenal. Pomegranate juice is one of nature's most powerful oxidation inhibitors. I command you to drink it."

"Sounds tasty," Lois deadpanned.

"No seriously. In fact, studies show that it has more polyphenol antioxidants ounce for ounce than any other drink. Even more than green tea, blueberry juice, cranberry juice and--," she continued, grabbing Lois bottle of Bordeaux. "This stuff."

"I thought red wine was the best," Lois said.

"Nope. So, bottoms up, lady," she finished, closing the fridge. She looked at Lois curiously. "Why _are_ you still up?"

"God, don't make me answer that question," Lois said, grabbing Chloe. "Follow me." She led her into the living room. "So anyway, I've been working on this non-story. Last week I went to this old folk's home, and while I was there doing a story on fruit cups --"

"Really?" Chloe asked, shocked.

"No," Lois replied. "Anyway, while I was there, all of sudden the Center for Disease Control landed like there was an outbreak of Ebola. Naturally I was intrigued, but when I called the CDC later, they told me a big fat nothing. Went back to the nursing homes, asked some questions, got some books. Now, I've been going through the logs."

"You got them to give up the visitor logs?" Chloe said.

"It's easier than you think."

"So, you find anything?"

"Well, at first nothing was turning up. But then I noted that two months ago, the CDC visited several of these facilities in one week. Encouraging, but far from a smoking gun. I don't know what to make of it. Maybe there was a flash of something and then it died out."

"Yeah, maybe," Chloe said. "But _maybe_..."

"Maybe what?" Lois asked.

"Well, following the CDC around to look for clues is like following a blood hound around to solve a murder. You already know you're a day late and a dollar short -- you have to figure out who was there _first_. For example." Chloe grabbed one of the binders. "Look through the days prior to the CDC visit at Amber Village Nursing Home and call out some names, and I'll tell you if any match any names from..," she glanced at the cover of another binder, "from ... _Cadaver's Convalescent Home_?"

"Even if I become a senile, cantankerous, and disease-ridden burden, _don't_ send me there," Lois remarked. Then she heaved a binder onto her lap and began to call out names as Chloe cross-referenced them through her own exhaustive logs. Back and forth they went this way until they were blue in the face. There were precious few repeats; from all indications, the FedEx man did it. Then Lois hit something.

"Anonymous," she said, baffled.

"Hold on," Chloe yelped, "Did you say Anonymous?"

"Yeah," Lois confirmed.

"Here, look here; he was here on the twenty-fifth, and..." she flipped through a few more pages. "That was three days before the visit from the CDC." Lois looked with interest. "Let's look through to see if we can find that entry anywhere else."

A frantic search ensued, and the girls were stunned to find that the entry "Anonymous" appeared in each and every volume, usually within 72 hours before a visit from the CDC and a few times after. Even more stunning, they all occurred in a two week period and then there was no more trace of this person.

"But who is Anonymous?" Lois asked after they had thought on the matter awhile.

"And what connection if any, does this person have to these nursing homes or the CDC?" Chloe inquired rhetorically. Lois just shook her head.

"Whatever it means, it'll have to wait until tomorrow. I have to go to bed." She glanced at the clock. It was already a little after two. "You should probably spend the night; you're welcome to if you want," she offered.

"Nope," Chloe said, stretching as she rose. "I'm supposed to go to breakfast with Adam tomorrow, and he's supposed to pick me up. I'd rather be back at my place."

"Suit yourself," Lois replied. "I guess your boyfriend is more important than your life."

Chloe laughed at that, "Well, if you're _that_ scared that I might fall asleep at the wheel, you can give me a cup of that noxious coffee I hear percolating in the kitchen."

"Shut-up, Juanita Valdez."

Chloe laughed, went off to get a cup, and reappeared moments later. She gave Lois a quick peck on the cheek as she headed for the door.

"Oh, one more thing. I almost forgot," Chloe said, taking out of her purse a small envelope addressed to Lois Lane. "I found this outside your door earlier. I think it's a _love letter_."

Lois took the envelope from her hand and opened it. She could barely believe her eyes when she read the letter inside. "Ooh, let me read it, let me, let me," Chloe whined.

"Chloe," Lois said bright-eyed. "You're going to have to spend the night."


	8. Alert

**CHAPTER EIGHT: ALERT**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers._

**LONG OVERDUE:** Serious kudos to my beta, XxKatyxX, whose encouragement, copyediting and general awesomeness have made this story infinitely better. I highly recommend her. Seriously. Like, she's really good.

* * *

Lois had a lot to do, and not much time to do it in, which is why even though she hadn't fallen sleep until something after three, she had been up, dressed (more or less), and cranking up the coffee maker by 7 o'clock sharp. And even 7 was cutting it close.

"Chloe!" she yelled from the kitchen, hoping her houseguest and reluctant partner in crime could be seduced into the world of the living with, in her opinion, an exquisite cup of dark roast Costa Rican coffee. Someone might as well get some use out of it. "Chlo!" she repeated, carrying the black elixir into the living room. She found Chloe unmoved and _not_ awake in a pile of sheets, comforters and pillows....on the floor. She'd always been a wild sleeper.

"Press pass on the E train amendment," Chloe muttered unintelligibly as she woke. Lois looked on, bewildered. "Hmmm?" Chloe moaned, stretching.

"Wake up, Beloved," Lois said, lowering the cup to Chloe's outstretched arms, "We gotta get outta here."

"Sakes alive, what time is it?" Chloe said, taking a sip and blinking back the flood of light from the window. "Is it 10:00 yet?"

Lois glanced at her watch. "Nope, 7:03. If we hurry, I can get us to Parlour Trace, get our info, and then drop you off to your precious boyfriend by 8:30." She took another look at Chloe. "Nine."

Chloe groaned as she got up. "I can't believe you talked me into spending the night. I've been more afraid of bomb threats at the junior high on test day than these ambiguous 'someone's out to get you' notes people are always slipping reporters."

"No, Chloe -- this is different," Lois said, skipping towards the table where said note rested. "Listen again." She unfolded the note and knotted her brow as she read it again. "Nefarious activity is amiss, and you have wittingly stumbled upon it. Though my words seem to ramble, you cannot take this matter lightly. There are those (who watch even as you read this) who certainly don't. You are strongly advised to terminate your activities immediately. Perhaps I can persuade you tomorrow at 1256 Parlour Trace. Signed, Anonymous." Lois paused. "There's no time. And where on God's green Earth is Parlour Trace? I've personally visited every inch of this city and never heard of the place."

"Sounds familiar, like I've been there in another life. Or maybe when I lived in Smallville -- which is another life if I ever saw one," Chloe said heading for the shower.

Forty five minutes later (and already putting Chloe's breakfast date in jeopardy), the two girls were on I-56, cursing the sixth exit they'd missed, and still not entirely sure where Parlour was.

"You'd think the daughter of a four-star general would have a sense of direction," Chloe said after helplessly witnessing Lois's third near miss on the exit ramp.

"Only if you'd believe someone who was one semester shy of her Ph.D. in Journalism was such a poor communicator."

"Or that her cousin is such a poor listener."

"Or that _you_ had the map," Lois retorted.

"I haven't used a map in years," Chloe countered. "I can't believe this street wasn't in the GPS. We have to focus. Look there, Exit 16B." Lois pulled off and soon was in the Brandon part of Metropolis.

"OK, now what?"

"Left on Teledyne, stay on the right to Brown, and Parlour should be the third left." Turning into Parlour, however, they found themselves leaving the residential section and were soon among several scattered buildings, possibly an old industrial park from the 1960s. Getting out of the car, they walked up the street, looking for 1256 as they did.

"Where is it?" Lois asked, frustrated that the numbers seemed to jump around and several buildings were a ways off from the road -- not a scenario Lois wanted to navigate in her trademark heels. The sun was still hovering over the horizon and putting everything in silhouette. It was also chillier than both girls had realized, and the wind was picking up. Besides, they didn't know what to expect even if they _did _find the place, and Lois was beginning to wonder if she shouldn't abort the operation. It was only a couple minutes before a man who looked like he knew the area inside and out approached them.

"Hey there ladies. What are two girls like you doing in a bar like this?" he asked, jokingly.

"Um," Lois spoke up, moving closer. "We're looking for building 1256. Would you happen to know where that is?"

The man cupped his eyes from the glare of the sun and stared out determinedly at the buildings dotting the street. "Twelve fifty-six, you say?"

"Yes," Lois said, hopeful.

"There," he said his finger outstretched. Both girls looked in the direction of where he was pointing. It was…an empty lot.

"_There?_" Lois repeated, looking at a stretch of asphalt, refuse, and patches of grass.

"Yep," the man sighed. "Been gone for almost ten years. Used to be a carwash, but that's been long gone." He paused. "Why -- what'd you need?"

"Nothing, um, nothing," Lois stammered, confused. She held out her hand. "But thank you, _Mr._?"

"Mr. Kercher," he said returning the shake and doing the same with Chloe. "Sorry I couldn't be more help."

"That's OK," Chloe assured him. "Thanks anyway."

With that he nodded and turned to leave. Then he suddenly stopped. "Nope, not a car wash. That was the other building down the way. Twelve fifty-six used to be a lab. Now I remember. Something bad happened. Don't know all the particulars, but FBI was crawling all over the place. Anyway, it's been closed for over a decade now. They came and tore it all the way down 'bout four years ago."

"_Really?_" Lois said.

Chloe mirrored her intrigue. "Crazy."

"Would you by any chance know what the name used to be?" Chloe asked.

"Um," the man replied, face frowning from thought. "I'm sorry girls, I can't remember," he said. "This here noggin ain't what it used to be."

"That's okay," Lois said. "Thanks for your help." The man nodded once more before walking off. It was some time before either girl spoke.

"I don't know what to think," Lois said.

"Me neither," Chloe said, "but if Anonymous wants a chase, he's got one." There was a glint in Lois' eye.

"Mouse," Lois replied, "meet Cat."


	9. Late

**CHAPTER NINE: LATE  
**_See chapter 1 for story headers_

**Notes:** The continued awesomeness of my beta, XxKayTayxX, cannot be overstated. She rox in a major way. Anything that sux is not her fault.

* * *

"God, Lois," Chloe whimpered as the girls pulled up to the lunch place. "It's already 10:30. I'm never this late for our dates. It's a wonder he waited." She turned to Lois, pouty-faced. "He _hates_ being alone in restaurants."

"Awww," Lois mocked. "What if he starts cwying?"

"Shut-up," Chloe said. She pecked Lois on the cheek. "So, don't worry about picking me up. I'm just going to catch the train back to my car later."

"Oh. Right. Your car," Lois said. She paused a second. "So when will I get to meet this guy?"

"Who? Adam?" Chloe asked.

"No, Ronald McDonald," Lois quipped. "Of course Adam."

"Ummm," Chloe stalled.

"Ummm?" Lois replied. "Ummm. So I take that as 'not now'?"

"I mean, I guess you could," Chloe said evasively.

"I can take a hint," Lois conceded. "But at least point him out. I want to see this babe." Lois' driving slowed to a crawl as she scanned the tables outside.

"Guess he's inside," Chloe said quickly. Just then, a balding man, north of forty with a healthy gut and questionable styling choices, waved enthusiastically at Chloe. Both girls looked at each other: Chloe with awkwardness and Lois with amusement.

"He's a beautiful person on the inside, Lo," Chloe said.

"He would have to be," Lois quipped. "And a much older man at that. Shocking."

"Shut-up," Chloe said as she exited the car, stifling a laugh of her own. "Just shut-up."

---

"So, where have you been this morning?" Clark asked from behind his monitor as soon as Lois came in. "Looks like you're late."

"Late, but working -- _and_ it looks like it's going to be a good day. Making progress on the CDC story. Although, based on what I found out this morning, I might have to start referring to it as something else." She scrunched her face. "Anonymous story? Lab story? I dunno, I'll think of something."

"Perry signed off on it yet?" Clark asked.

"No, but…I'm—" she sighed. "I'm smitten with the story, Clark. I can't let it go." Clark nodded. "Anyway, doesn't _The Planet_ have a subscription to some database we can use to see the city at various points in history?"

"RetroMetro dot com."

"That's it!" Lois cried, then groaned. "Blasted – I forgot my log-in. Can I use yours, Clark?"

"You use all the rest of them; why stop now?" he asked. "User name--"

"I know. MOS. Never did see what that has to do with anything. Password?"

"That's the same, too. LionsTigersBears6789."

"And…I'm in," Lois announced. Her keyboard broke into a flutter of typing, and several minutes went by.

"Which sounds better, Lois?" Clark asked after a time. "'A jaded leader with a lackluster record' or "A cynical leader with an unimpressive record." There was no answer. "Lois?" But she was caught up in her own research, so Clark guessed he was on his own.

"Clark, you're from here," she suddenly declared.

"I'm actually from Smallville," Clark clarified.

"Right, but anyway, have you ever heard of Lachlan Labs?"

"Lachlan." Clark pursed his lips. "Lachlan, Lachlan, Lachlan. Where have I heard that name before?" He finally shrugged. "Not sure."

"Hmm," Lois said. "I'm searching but nothing's coming up for Lachlan Lab. Well, things are coming up, but nothing helpful. Old phone numbers, painfully brief mentions on other sites. It's like the business was wiped off the face of the earth." She paused. "Wait a minute."

"What?" Clark asked.

"Son of a gun--there's a Wikipedia article about it."

"Yikes. Don't let Perry know you're in there," Clark cautioned. "I'm surprised an alarm didn't go off."

"Oh, hush," Lois replied.

"What does it say?" Clark asked.,

"I don't know," she replied. "It's the Esperanto Wikipedia; or should I say, Vikipedio?"

"Wikipedia is in Esperanto?" Clark asked. She ran the page through a translator.

"Ahem…'Lachlan Lab was a laboratory in the Brandon area of Metropolis, Kansas, USA that specialized in the disposal of industrial-grade, biological refuse. It was founded in 1981 and was run independently before being purchased by LuthorCorp in 1992.'"

"Figures," Clark interjected.

"'Under LuthorCorp, the laboratory began a research and development division. The FBI shut it down in 2005 under a cloud of suspicion.'"

Knock, knock.

"Come in," Lois and Clark said in unison.

Robby popped his head through the door.

"Haven't seen him," Lois said preemptively.

"Thank you," Robby replied. "_And_ Doug's having a team meeting in ten." He left.

"I'm sorry," Clark said suddenly, and he wasn't even sure why.

"Why?" Lois asked, putting two pencils in her mouth.

"I'm sorry that he's not here. In Metropolis…I'm sure he has his reasons."

"Dowt apowogize," Lois mumbled. She took one pencil, then the second, and deftly pinned her hair into a bun. She then resumed typing, focused on her work. Clark thought she was done, but she suddenly started again. "Sometimes I get so close to him," she said, "So close to his world, that I almost think I could hold it all in the palm of my hand--like a child holds a firefly. But when I open it…He's always already flown away." She looks at Clark pensively. "But he's Superman, Clark; I don't think it can be any other way."

Clark dropped his head a little. "I guess not," he said.

Lois spun around in her chair, beaming all of sudden. "But don't look so glum," she announced, "because it's Monday morning, and I'm happy to hear what makes you happy."

Mondays are bad for just about everyone, but Mondays at a newspaper were especially bad: A sea of deadlines on the horizon, the invariable writer's block, two more days worth of bad news from over the weekend plopped in your lap, _and_ the fact that the weekend was never actually a break since a newspaper publishes _everyday_ – it all contributed to a chronic case of Monday morning blues. It was Lois's idea that she and Clark should interrupt each Monday morning with something that makes them happy. They called it Monday Morning Reporting.

Some Mondays were easier than others.

"I'm happy to report that…," Clark thought hard. "Ah," he blurted. "I'm happy to report I have a joke."

Lois smiled. "Let's hear it."

"There are three fathers-to-be in a hospital waiting room, all waiting for their babies to be born. The first nurse comes out and tells the first father, 'Congratulations you're the father of twins!' 'Great!' he says, 'I am the manager for the Minnesota Twins.' The second nurse comes out to speak to the second father. 'Congratulations,' she says, 'you're the father of triplets!' 'That's awesome!' he says, 'I work for 3M.' Just then, the third father opens the window and jumps out. Moments later, the third nurse comes out, and asks, 'Where's the third father?' One of the other fathers says, 'Oh, he jumped out the window.' 'Why?' the nurse asks. He replies, 'He works for Seven Up!'"

Lois busted into laughter. Not small chuckles, but belly-aching guffaws with tears streaming down her face. When she tilted her head back, one of the pencils fell out. Clark had found the joke funny enough, but watching her enjoy it started him laughing, too. _This_, Clark thought to himself, _is what Monday Morning Reporting is all about._

Lois eventually caught her breath. "_That_ was a good one Clark."

"Thank you, thank you," Clark said, bowing in his chair. It was her turn. "Well, Lois, it's Monday morning, and I'm happy to hear what makes you happy."

"Oh, my turn, right," she said. "Well, I had something else, something about my story. But really, Clark," she started with a sigh. "I'm happy to report that you make me happy."

Clark was stunned by the announcement. "_Me?_"

"Yes, you," she began. "Sometimes I hear the other reporters complaining about their 'cellmates' or having to go to mediation. They argue over stories and betray one another. I know I'm not always easy to get along with, and we have our days. But I have to say…" She stopped.

"You have to say what?" Clark goaded.

"I have to say that I enjoy working with you. When I used to see you back in Smallville during the summers that I visited Chloe, I had no idea that one day we'd be working together. But you're an great partner, and a better friend."

Clark was speechless. The sincerity with which she had spoken the words truly touched him. It wasn't everyday he received unqualified praise from Lois, which made it all the sweeter when he did. He stood up. She followed suit, and they embraced. The embrace, however, was its own kind of agony. It reminded Clark how close he was, and yet so very far away, to what he really wanted from Lois. It made him realize that he couldn't ignore his feelings for her any longer. He had to do something—but not now.

"I don't know what to say," he finally said as he pulled away.

"That's okay; save it for next Monday," she said, and patted him twice on the chest.

Clark grabbed his jacket. "Ready?" he asked.

"Oh, the team meeting," Lois said. "Go ahead without me. I'm coming in a couple seconds. I just need to do one more thing."

Clark smiled and left.

She read the Wikipedia article one more time, this time reading aloud the part she'd kept from Clark. "An independent civil investigation in 2006 revealed that the case had been ruled confidential and sealed."

"Hmm," Lois said to herself. "Time to _un_seal it."


	10. Mission

**CHAPTER TEN:**** MISSION  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers._**

* * *

Palatable food was hard to come by among the street vendors of downtown Metropolis, and Lex was already beginning to doubt his choice. He regarded the Greek salad on his lap with some suspicion. He still wasn't sure what the pickle was for. He hesitantly began to eat.

Then waited.

This was a stakeout--and one of the reasons (among a myriad of others) why Lex had never gone into law enforcement. He worked out the details to himself aloud. "I see the connection between Lachlan Labs and kryptlexium," he began, "and the connection between kryplexium and the patent office. But who else would see the connection?"

Just then something caught his eye. To his right and across the street, he saw a man in his fifties in a getup resembling a bell-hop uniform saunter up the stairs of the Turion Building.

"Mother of God," Lex whispered. His suspicions were confirmed: the boys were back in town. He tossed the salad onto the passenger's seat and bolted from the car, following Trace into the building. The lobby was filled with persons conducting all sorts of business that went on in the building, from pantomimes for hire to stockbrokers. He spotted Trace waiting for an elevator and joined him.

"Hello Robert," he said cheerily.

Trace looked up with surprise. "Lex?" he said.

"Nice to see you. I was here getting a gelato, and when I spotted you I just had to speak." The elevator door opened.

"Wow, all grown up," Trace said. "You look well."

"Wish I could say the same for you," Lex deadpanned. "I kid," he added, and began to laugh. Trace didn't. Both men got on the elevator. "Robert, Robert, Robert," Lex sighed.

"Please, Lex, call me Sydney. Sydney White."

"Sydney," Lex repeated. "Not the most masculine of names, but it suits you." Trace cut his eye.

"What floor are you going to?" Trace pressed for the fifth.

"Wherever you are going," Lex replied, as the elevator door closed. "Consider me your guest."

"I don't know what you want with me, but I will not be intimidated. I am under near constant surveillance by the US government."

"_Near_ constant," Lex repeated and pushed the emergency break button on the elevator. "So _not_ here?" he asked.

"You've surely heard of the cell phone, Lex?" Trace asked, attempting to hide his fear.

"You will have no need for that," Lex assured him. "I just want to know who you're working for."

"I'm a deskman on the fifth floor." He gestured to his uniform as proof. "I clock in, point lost people in the right direction, and clock out."

"Who else do you work for?" Lex asked.

"What do you mean, Lex?" Trace asked. "And really, I'm close to being late for work." He reached for the brake button, but Lex caught his hand. His voice took on a menacing tone.

"I know that you are a two-faced bastard that will take money from whomever's handing it out. That's something my father learned too late." He leaned into Trace's ear and whispered, "You will find I'm not as trusting."

He let go of Trace's hand. "But equally as ruthless," he said in a plain voice, pushing the brake himself. They resumed their ride up.

"Is that a _threat_?" Trace spat.

Lex pushed for the third floor and got off. "Have a great day…_Sydney_," he said as the elevator doors closed.

When he got back to the car, he sat a moment, thinking. _Robert was like any _true_ pest_, Lex thought. _ If you see one there are twenty more_. All he had to do was to sniff out the nest.

-----

"Lois," Clark began, tapping on his desk calendar. "Did you realize next Friday is our fifth anniversary of being partners in crime?"

"Which means my days of being twenty-ten are numbered," she grimaced. Looking at her own desk calendar, she confirmed the event. "Indeed. Five of the longest years of my life....just kidding." Tapping her lips, she made a proposal. "We should do something, Clark."

Clark smiled. This was going to be easier than he thought. "I was just about to say the same thing. Got any ideas?"

She leaned back in her chair before jumping with a notion. "You know what -- we could buy a cake and invite everyone to a slice in the break room. Or no -- even better, maybe we could convince Perry to drop his 'no booze in the workplace' rule for one day and let us bring in some Champaign. Or will he have to 'run it by the Global Press first.'" She banged her hand on the desk. "God, don't get me started."

Clark interrupted her imminent rant. "I was thinking something a little more private. I don't think the rest of the office will really care." Lois reflected on this point.

"Guess you're right. Then what did you have in mind?"

"Maybe dinner at, say, _Montmartre_?" Clark hadn't meant for it to sound like a question.

"_Montmartre?_ Only if you're treating."

"Of course," Clark replied.

"Then, yeah, sounds good."

"Great, then _Montmartre_ it is," Clark said with a flourish. "When should I pick you up?"

"Pick me up? Can't we just go after work?" Lois asked.

"You want to wear a suit to _Montmartre_?"

"Why not?" Lois said casually, but Clark frowned. "Fine. How about I bring a sexy pair of heels and a string of pearls to work and then change in the car? Would that make you happy Mr. 'I Only Wear Ties Cut on the Bias?'"

Clark couldn't help but laugh. "Sure, that sounds great."

"Good," Lois said. "I have a meeting, and then I gotta make a run. I won't be back 'till 3:30 at the earliest. So just ignore my phone...that's what I do." Then she left. Clark let out the inner cheesy smile he'd been repressing and tapped his pencil on his desk.

"It's a date," he said.


	11. Proposal

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: PROPOSAL**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers._

* * *

This was Lois's _second_ meeting of the afternoon.

"...Essentially, the theme centers on the inevitable demise of colonialism as an instrument of Western imperialism…blah, blah, blah…"

Lois's mind had wandered in and out of the last hour of the film she'd just watched and she was mentally absent from this subsequent lecture. Sure, she was as interested in art house cinema as much as the next broad (which was not much). But somewhere amidst the dialog of _La Battaglia di Algeri_, thoughts of her meeting with Perry kept coming back to mind. She had lost battles with him before, but never like that. Simply put, she had bored him, and for the first time in her career, for a part of a second, Lois had felt...irrelevant.

It probably didn't help that she was operating on little sleep. Lois had stayed up virtually all night debating whether or not to accept Lex's invitation. But, sure enough, it was 4:43 PM (too late to go back to the office for sure), and here she was, emerging from his home theater.

"In today's world economy," Lex continued, "of course, that feels like Monday-morning quarterbacking. Your average nineteen-year-old econ major today knows that to be a world presence, to truly dominate the international markets, one cannot take a single cog of the world infrastructure for granted."

Lois was sure her concerns had been founded. Meeting with Lex out here in Midvale had to be akin to communing with the Devil in the bowels of Hell. Still, lost somewhere in the middle of his monologue, she was wondering if she really had anything to worry about.

"My father would be a prime example. He casually overlooked the engine of world finance -- the economic land of promise, a nation with the single biggest concentration of consumers in the world. China. Of course, you couldn't exactly blame him -- everyone was ignoring them back then. But that mainstream oversight was my father's folly."

"_Folly_?" Lois echoed. "Your father was a multimillionaire a hundred times over."

"I'm a billionaire," Lex reminded her. "And the one with the most toys wins."

_Is this guy serious?_, Lois thought to herself. Then Lex turned around, flashing a smirk over his shoulder that confirmed he actually wasn't. He opened the hallway door that exited to his veranda and motioned for her to exit first. He poured himself a lemonade from a nearby cart, offering her a glass as well, which she declined. She sat down.

"The truth is, Ms. Lane, economics is my passion. I am a man of passions."

"This is all fascinating Mr. Luthor," Lois began. She'd heard enough. "But um..."

"I insist, call me Lex. _Really_," Lex interrupted, insistent. Lois, not inclined to let her guard down, met his eyes with some hesitance. Lex was the first to turn away, distracting himself with the gate. "You know, you called me 'Lex' rather easily in times past."

"I…know," Lois conceded. And in an instant, it felt like Lex had gone from distantly rambling to whispering in her ear. She didn't even notice when he suddenly appeared standing across from her.

"But, alas, those days are gone, and you would rather align yourself with the 'good' people of the world, who hate everything Luthor and love everything Kent." He handed her a saucer of olives.

"Mr.--" Lois began, and then paused, "I don't know all the details of what happened between you and Clark, but...um." And now she was very uncomfortable. Lex let her squirm a moment before coming in.

"I understand. After the fallout, allegiances had to be made. You were one of the people I lost in the divorce."

"Lex --" Lois said before she could catch herself.

"No, don't worry about it. I understand your reasoning. Why take a chance on an eccentric capitalist boogeyman with a growing number of enemies and dubious ethics when you could stay in a safe relationship with a trusted friend," Lex said. Lois didn't reply. "I made the same choice myself once...I hope it works out better for you."

"Mr. Luthor," Lois said, trying to regain control of the conversation. "Why did you bring me here today? I'm sure it wasn't to reminisce on the past."

"You supposed correctly," Lex said, putting his ever present glass down, and joining Lois on the couch. "A little bird told me that you aren't happy at _The Daily Planet_."

"Then the little bird lied," Lois replied, involuntarily grabbing her purse.

"Fair enough. But let's just say that you _were_ unhappy at _The Planet_; would you ever consider a position on the editorial board of _The Inquisitor_."

Lois barely stifled a laugh. "Is it even yours to give?"

"Why -- are you interested?" Lex asked.

"I'd rather give Mayer Sackett a tongue bath. Please tell me you have something better than that."

"A negotiator worth his salt never plays his trump card first," he said, rising and taking a folder from the table. "What do you think about TV?"

"I don't. The various branches of the media tend to regard each other with a long stick. Why?"

"This year marks the twentieth anniversary of the internet boom. Personal devices have literally brought mind-numbing amounts of information to people's fingertips. Cable networks have all but flooded home viewers with every sort of news minutia twenty-four hours a day. Television, internet, music—it's all on demand. We no longer wait for primetime to roll around to be informed or entertained. Your typical news consumer relies on a news cycle of less than six hours. Print media have been playing second fiddle to live broadcasting for years, and, in some circles, are only consulted for their editorial content. Newspapers are struggling to stay alive."

"Is there a punch-line to this joke?" Lois asked.

"A friend of mine, or rather an associate, is trying to create a competitive news market right here in Kansas. You might have heard of him: Fred Dohrmann." Lois nodded. Of course she had. "He's a media genius, and has already left his fingerprint in seven other states, creating competitive markets in the middle of cotton fields. He's scouting for an experienced journalist who is respected in the news field, but unknown in the TV circuit, to anchor a cutting-edge news program he's developing. This could be a career defining chance for a ambitious reporter to get into a promising venture from the bottom floor." He paused. "Know anyone who might be interested?"

"I can't leave _The Daily Planet_," Lois replied. "_The Planet_ is my home."

"Oh, I failed to mention the starting salary." He scribbled a figure on a paper and handed it to Lois. She couldn't believe her eyes: it was three times her already comfortable salary.

"Wow," she whispered, and then had a thought. "What would be in it for you?"

"Why do you think something would be in it for me?" Lex asked. Lois gave him a steely stare. "Okay, I admit I've thought of the benefits. It's no secret that I've had trouble getting accurate press coverage." Lois rolled her eyes. "Despite our..._differences_...I do respect your work Ms. Lane. And with you on board, this would be an opportunity for me to be represented correctly," he popped an olive into his mouth. "Because we both know that public perception, regardless of the truth, is very important."

Lois glanced at the slip of paper in her hand again.

"Actually, the truth is _all_ there is," Lois said. She'd made her decision, and rose to leave. "I thank you for your offer, but I'll have to decline."

"Oh, I didn't think you would come to a decision so soon anyway," he said, rising as well and handing her the folder. "Take this, sleep on it, think about it. Decide what's best for you."

Lois reluctantly took the folder and was almost at the door when Lex suddenly spoke.

"Good night Ms. Lane," he said. Lois slowed a moment and then spoke.

"Good night, Mr. Luthor," she replied and left.


	12. Reality

**CHAPTER TWELVE: REALITY**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers_

**Note:** Let's give the beta a hand! XxKayTayxX, you hear that? That's for you!

* * *

In his other life, his life in Metropolis, Clark was a constant consumer of media: TV, newspaper, and the omnipresent Internet. But whenever he came home, it seemed the world didn't go beyond the white fence surrounding Kent Farm. There was always work to be done, _always_, and it was always physical. Clark had wondered how Martha had gotten back into the routine after being in Washington so long, but he was beginning to see how.

Clark and his mom sat in the kitchen pulling the husks off ears of corn.

"You going home tonight?" Martha said suddenly and without any resentment. Clark's friends often complained that their parents would constantly nag them for visits, but Martha had calmly accepted it as Clark's presence had gone from being daily, to weekly, to monthly. And there had been a time or two when his visits had been even farther apart. When Clark was feeling defeated and alien, he would attribute her apathy to the fact that he was adopted. Other times though, he'd acknowledge the truth: she had spent his whole life preparing for the day when he wouldn't belong to just her. So when the time came, she was ready.

"Um," Clark began. He wasn't totally sure how long his visit would last. He had some sick days that he was thinking about cashing in on. "For the weekend—maybe longer. After work mostly."

Martha snapped her head to his direction. "What's the occasion?"

Clark wanted to say a premature mid-life, superhero crisis heretofore unseen in the history of mankind. "No occasion. Just...I guess I'm a little homesick."

Martha nodded. As she did, some of her hair fell out of the clip that pulled her hair back, and Clark noticed how much his mother had grayed. Her hair was a shimmering blend of silver and red, which was rather beautiful, and which put a wise patina on everything she did and said. "Well you know you're welcome to stay, of course. I have to put some sheets on the bed upstairs."

"Thanks, Mom," Clark said, leaning on the counter. "I've been meaning to ask you; how do you feel about the commercial representation in Congress?"

Martha signed a deep sigh and took a sip from her tea before joining him at the counter. "You already know, Clark, that I was never a politician at heart. I sometimes joke that my best day in Congress was the day I left. But honestly, when I see the direction this country is going in, sometimes I wish I were still there. Maybe I could make a difference." She patted Clark on the back. "But then maybe not."

"That's not what you taught me," Clark replied.

"I guess it's not," she said.

There was a lull in conversation.

"So," Clark began, laughing, smiling and hopefully disguising what he was about to say. "So, um, I've been having this dream."

"Yeah?" Martha said.

"Yeah. A funny dream. This dream that, um, there's this fire. And it's really bad. And I've gotten there really late."

"As Superman?" his mother clarified.

Clark nodded. "Yeah, as Superman. So, um, in the dream, by the time I get there it's totally raging and out of control. And everyone's saying, "Superman, we thought you were never coming.' And then I rise up to where the smoke is, and it's _really_ high up, maybe a hundred stories. But as I get closer, I can't breathe and my vision's getting blurry. But I keep rising, and I can hear a voice inside, and it's a little girl's voice. She's screaming 'Save me', but her voice is getting weaker. Finally I land on the balcony and get a good breath full of the smoke, and immediately I know -- it's kryptonite. It's burning kryptonite. And I fall over the side of the balcony, and I can hear the crowd below me screaming 'No, Superman, do something.' But I can't and when I look down, Lois is there and she's shaking her head and crying, saying 'Clark, Clark, Clark" over and over again. And then I wake up."

Martha face was perplexed. "What's funny about that?"

"Because I can't figure out where it's coming from. I mean, she doesn't even know I'm Superman."

"Clark, I haven't kept up with your dreams in quite some time, but that sounds like a nightmare to me. And you keep having it?"

"It's _not_ a nightmare," Clark said, brushing her off. "It's just weird -- that's all. My lifestyle breeds weird dreams. It's one in a million. The only reason I remember it is because--" he stopped. Martha waited for him to finish the sentence, but he never did. He didn't know, really.

"You know yourself. It is funny a little, I guess," Martha lied. And Clark was relieved but oddly disappointed that she didn't put up more of fight.


	13. Jigsaw

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: JIGSAW  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers_**

**Notes:** Socată is a Romanian drink made from the flowers of the elderberry shrub. Yum!

* * *

Tuesday morning, and in a bold move, Lois had taken the day off.

"But what I don't understand Chlo," Lois began, shutting the refrigerator door with her foot and carrying Cap'n Crunch and milk in her hands, "is how those files could have been sealed."

"Not sure, either," Chloe agreed. "But when there are Luthors involved, there is no telling what may happen." Chloe paused. "Then again, this _is_ a Wikipedia article. How do we know Anonymous, or even Lex, didn't edit it, just to throw you off?"

"I checked the article's history; it hasn't been touched in six years. All the information is referenced, but linked to websites that no longer exist. I have a hunch the info is true, I just can't _prove_ it."

"Well, you asked for a tough story and you got one," Chloe said. Lois nodded. "Hate to tell you this, but I gotta run; Adam just honked outside."

"Have fun," Lois said before hanging up.

Lois had decided that today, instead of working on laundry, an oil change, and the purchase of groceries, she was going to work on the "CDC story". It was still the most fitting name.

She sat at the kitchen table and reviewed what she had: Anonymous frequented several nursing homes days before the CDC would show up and log a suspicious illness. Almost all of the patients had subsequently died shortly after, although not all deaths were credited to whatever bug they may or may not have had. A person going by "Anonymous" had advised her to stop investigating and sent her to the site of a lab that had been closed under criminal investigation--an investigation that was later sealed and that, of course, was connected to the Luthors. But what she still didn't know was if the lab and Anonymous were connected. She didn't know for sure if the deaths were coincidences or not, and she didn't know if and how the Luthors played in all this.

Too many questions and not enough answers.

But she would never get _any_ answers until she figured out who Anonymous was.

-----

"And I'm never going to get _any_ answers until I find out who Anonymous is," she told Clark over the phone.

"Isn't this a day _off_ for you?" he asked.

"Yes. That's why I'm working on my hobby," she replied.

Clark laughed. "Uh, wait Lois, I gotta go. Rebecca just said we have another team meeting starting…now." He hurriedly hung up.

"Why is everyone so busy today?" she whined. She collapsed onto the couch. "Fine then. I'll have to do this alone." But first, Lois had to figure out what she even _wanted_ to know. Then it dawned on her: If Anonymous was actually affiliated with LuthorCorp, who would know? There was one more resource that she hadn't pursued; Lois grabbed her keys.

In twenty minutes she was knocking at his door.

"Who is it?" came a muffled call from behind the door.

"Lois," she replied, "Lois Lane." The door swung open. "Uncle Gabe!" she squealed. "Long time no see."

Gabe had taken a medical retirement from his second career--the Post Office—after getting attacked by a pack of dogs. As if one cliché weren't enough, he had ended up marrying his nurse, a Romanian girl half his age. The happy couple spent their time travelling domestically to cheap resorts and campgrounds. He seemed happy enough, but he and Chloe's once close relationship had deteriorated over time. He couldn't understand her desire to seek out controversy; she couldn't understand his desire to be with a woman that could be his daughter. These days they barely spoke. Lois felt like a traitor even sitting in his living room. After some formalities and a glass of socată, Gabe was ready for business.

"As happy as I am to see you," Gabe said, "I know you must be here for a reason."

Lois cleared her throat. "Well, Uncle Gabe," she started, "to be honest, I wanted to ask you what you knew about Lachlan Labs."

"Quite a bit, actually," he said. "That's the lab I started out at when I started working for LuthorCorp."

"Really?" Lois said. "I didn't know."

"Yeah well, you've seen one you've seen 'em all."

"Probably so. Well, recently, while looking into our city's history, I came across something that piqued my interest. I really don't know what to ask but, while you were at Lachlan Labs did you happen to know anyone that went by an alias? Say, Anonymous?"

Gabe suddenly went white as a ghost. "Lois you should probably just leave whatever you're sniffing at alone."

"Why?" Lois said, supremely curious. "Why should I leave it alone?"

"Because this is dangerous territory that has long been buried. Just leave it there."

"But see, I can't, Uncle," Lois said. She took the seat beside him on the couch. "I can't tell you all the details. I don't even know what they are myself, but I have this hunch that lives are involved. Please, tell me what you know about him."

Gabe sighed. "I swear you girls are too curious for your own good," he said, no doubt referring to Chloe. "You never heard this from me, Lois," he started.

"Of course not," she said, holding up her right hand. "So help me God."

"How can I put this?" Gabe said, putting his drink on the table. "Anonymous was Lionel's mad scientist of choice. He used him for his most despicable operations. He even dabbled in Level 3."

"Level 3?" Lois asked, intrigued. "What's Level 3?" Gabe shook his head.

"Only one conspiracy a day, Lois," he said. "After the AIDS epidemic broke out, Lionel started thinking of a way to get the two things he wanted most: fortune and fame. He began by gathering a team of some of the most elite biochemists in the world. In clandestine labs on the outskirts of Metropolis, they began developing a drug that could not only fight HIV, but any communicable disease that came its way. He was convinced that if he could create a drug that had regenerative properties on the immune system, it could reverse the damage from even the most penetrating bug. He was bent on creating a pharmaceutical so potent, so completely effective, so calibrated to the intricacies of the human immunological system that the actual disease was irrelevant." Gabe stopped and dropped to a low tone. "Rumor has it, he succeeded."

"What's wrong with that?" Lois asked.

"Because, the anticipated side effects of the drug were brutal, too brutal to conduct a clinical trial. The drug needed refining and Lionel knew he would never get it passed by the FDA in his lifetime. _Unless_…unless he found a bug deadly enough to make the tests worth it. In his estimation, none existed. That's where Anonymous came in."

"You mean, they created a superbug, just to cure it?"

"Exactly," Gabe said. "Lionel liked to scatter power; the scientists working with him only knew a fraction of what the project was about, and they only worked on that fraction. But, Anonymous—he was the only one who knew _everything_."

"And you?" Lois asked.

"I was friends with Anonymous. We had our kids around the same time. His wife left him, too. We had some things in common."

"So he told you everything? Just because you were friends?" Lois asked astonished.

"Sounds simple. Almost too simple. But the simple truth is, when you trust someone, _really_ trust someone, there's nothing you won't tell them."'

"But he wouldn't even tell you his real name," Lois said.

"He told me his real name," Gabe clarified. He walked over to an album and, flipping through a couple pages, stopped. He hand the volume to Lois, pointing to a picture as he did. The photo was of a much younger Gabe and a man about his age sitting by a pool. Their backs were to the camera, but they had turned around to face whomever was taking the picture. "He had his name tattooed on his back. It was hell trying to keep that thing covered up," Gabe explained. "Drank a lot when he was younger."

"Tom Dresnell," Lois repeated. She looked at her uncle with astonishment; she never guessed he'd know so much. "Uncle, you've never said anything for all those years, but you don't mind telling me now?"

Gabe took a sip of his socată before answering. "These things are old and done with, Lois. Ancient history. Lionel's dead, the lab is closed. The formula for the drug was lost or destroyed. Scientists were jailed and exiled. I haven't heard from Tom in years—I'm not even sure he's still alive. Pretty soon, it'll all be forgotten about. If you were smart, Lois, you'd leave it that way."

Lois took another sip of socată, not saying a word.


	14. Highwater

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: HIGHWATER**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers_

**Description:** The long-awaited date between Lois and Clark.

* * *

Despite a day filled with innumerable meetings and a deadline or two, it had gone by slowly. Clark didn't know what he anticipated was going to happen today, but depending on how things went, this could be the night. The night where Clark defeated Superman -- if no more than in Lois's mind.

It was already 5:15 when Clark glanced down and noticed that Lois was nowhere to be found, and he himself wasn't _even_ close to being done with everything. He had a least another twenty minutes worth of work to do -- _with_ his powers. He jogged over to the door, carefully locked it, and then spell-checked his work at a speed that justified why he had the only titanium-reinforced keyboard on Planet Earth. He flew through a battery of reference confirmations and uploaded thirteen files to the server. He still had four people he had to find to drop off forms. He scanned the building. Gary Montalvo was predictably on the first floor in the Mailroom, Greg Linn was in Accounts Payable on the Fifth Floor, Mark Feldman was headed for the parking garage, and Jane Stewart was (deep breaths) in the restroom. And, from what he could tell by skeletal structure, in a stall with Sharon Beck. _Where are lead-lined rooms when you need them?_ Clark sighed.

In a Kryptonian second he was at the elevator. He took a quick glance around; one day, someone was going to catch him doing that. He went down the elevator (the longest leg of his journey), and then in a second he was out in the parking garage and next to Mark. They exchanged pleasantries, Clark gave him the paperwork, apologized he couldn't talk longer, and then he was off to Gary. A similar conversation ensued, and Clark specified how he wanted his package sent out. He supersped for the stairs (screw the elevator, and no one would notice that he walked four flights, would they?), and moments later he was signing "receipt of goods" forms for Greg. Except that Greg was an accountant, so there was always another problem. After a few "yeses," "nos," "I don't knows," and "does it matters?" Clark was making his way...

To Jane Stewart. He did another quick scan, and found that she was...exactly where she had been fifteen minutes ago. After a rather one-sided internal debate, he decided that she would get her ad proofs from Marty _tomorrow_.

Glancing at his watch it was a pleasant 5:31. Mentally patting himself on the back, he went off to find Lois. Starting with his phone. It rang twice.

"Yeah?" Lois answered.

"Where are you?" Clark said, maybe a little more fiercely than he had meant.

"I went to the library, Daddy," Lois replied. Clark sighed.

"Lois!" he whined.

"I'm at the --," she paused, dropping to a whisper. "I'm at the coroner's office."

"Which is another way of saying that you're putting on a sexy pair of heels and pearls as you head to your car, and that you're _on your way_?"

"Um, no," Lois replied.

"Lois, you forgot didn't you?" Clark said with disappointment. There was a confirming silence on the other end. "You did."

"I'm on my way, Clark," she finally replied frantically, "as soon as I get these autopsy reports. Meet me in front of my place."

"Autopsy reports -- is that even _legal_?" In the next moment she was gone.

Clark left his office casually. There was no need to rush. Lois was a solid forty minutes away in rush hour traffic. He was already having a hunch this was going to be a long night. He went to his car, jumped in, and three blocks later, parked in front of her building. He was sound asleep in his car when there was a tap at the window.

It was Lois. She was wearing sexy stilettos that tied at the ankle and a choker string of pearls. Her hair was pinned up, and a few tendrils cascaded her bare shoulders. And, Clark even thought she had on fresh makeup. "Lois," he said, opening the door. "You look....really pretty." And there he was, neglecting the vocabulary that he had gone to school for four years to get. Would it have killed him to say "stunning?" Or was that a word for Superman?

"Thank you," she said. "Whenever you're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong -- otherwise known as investigative reporting -- you have to play the part," she explained. So, her dress had nothing to do with tonight. But she still looked beautiful. "Separate cars?" she asked. She already knew the drill. Clark always liked to go in separate cars. He had never given a good reason, but she had accepted the quirk years ago (along with his myriad of other unexplainable eccentricities), and this had probably been the first time she had asked in a very long time. Probably because tonight, especially tonight, it really didn't make any sense.

"Jump in," he replied. She nodded with a hint of surprise and slid in shotgun.

"Nice to see the inside of this thing," she remarked.

They fought gridlock on Cottle Ave, which was just as well, as the conversation on the way was easy and fun, and Clark was already starting to relax. It was already 6:35 when they reached the restaurant. They were fortunate to even find a parking space since there was no parking lot, and the place was always full on Friday nights.

"I still can't believe you're taking me here," Lois replied as she walked with him, rubbing her arms briskly against the cool evening air. "I only eat at places this foofoo when Daddy's spending Uncle Sam's money."

"That's your tax dollars at work, ladies and gentlemen," Clark replied. Lois laughed. "Look, don't sweat it. It's the least I could do." He noticed her cold. "You chilly?" he asked.

"Um, yeah," she replied. He took off his suit jacket (a move he never failed to use, since he was never cold anyway), and draped it over her shoulders. She nodded politely. "So when's the reservation for?" she asked.

"Six-twenty," he remarked casually. "I know it's a weird time, but it was all they had."

Lois glanced at her watch, "Clark, it's 6:35," Lois said.

"Yeah, I know Lois. Hmm, I wonder how it got so late?" Clark replied sarcastically as they approached the double doors.

"Clark, I came as fast as I could."

"I know, I know," he said, softening his tone. "Let's go in, and see what they can do," Clark opened the door. "It's only been fifteen minutes."

The maitre d' was a stout man who barely stood over the podium he presided from. "Your name?' he inquired.

"Clark Kent." The man perused the touch monitor he was looking at. His response came quickly.

"Sorry no one's listed here by that name. I'm afraid we have nothing available." Clark peered over the podium.

"Hold on, I had a reservation for 6:20." The man apparently scrolled back before looking up again.

"Indeed you did, but you'll note that it is 6:36," he replied.

"Right, and you've given our table away that quickly?" Clark implored.

"Of course; this is a dining by reservation establishment," he replied. Lois tapped Clark on the shoulder.

"Clark, let's go."

"Hold on, Lois," he said, a little peeved. "Now, sir, if this is a reservation only establishment, and it's only been fifteen minutes, who did you give my table to?"

The man glanced down again, pushing the screen. "I'm sorry, we can't release that information. However, your table is no longer available."

"So you make reservations fifteen minutes apart?" He felt a tap on his shoulder; it was Lois again.

"I don't eat caviar stuffed lobster and Alaskan crab pâté anyway. Let's go." she insisted.

"Hold on, Lois," Clark said, shrugging her off. "If you don't schedule your reservations that close, then clearly you gave my table to a call-in."

"A walk-in actually," the man clarified coolly.

"Okay then," Clark said, in a moment of brilliance, "we are now walk-ins. What are the chances that we could wait to take the place of another cancellation or no-show?"

"Not good," the man said with an eagerness that fanned Clark's steadily growing flames, "but a conservative time estimate would be three hours." Clark grimaced. "One moment," the maitre d' said. "Allow me to assist this couple." He waved the well-dressed and incredibly bourgeois-looking couple forward as Clark stepped aside. He was tempted to take his heat-vision to the maitre d's toupee.

"Clark," Lois called to him in a muted whisper-holler. "Why are we still here?" Clark glared in return.

"Because..." he began, but then stopped. _Because I've been dreaming of this for days?_ Clark wanted to say, but instead he gave a frustrated and blank stare.

"Exactly, so let's go back to the car, drive off, and go to one of the other 800 restaurants in Metropolis."

Clark gave one final glare to the maitre d' as a waiter escorted the couple in. He looked at Lois and followed her out.

"I didn't want to tell you earlier, but I suddenly remembered eating there before, and it sucked. I'm glad they were full." Clark looked at the back of her head with a touch of irritation.

"Well, got any ideas of where to go next, Food Critic?" Clark asked. He held out his hand and felt the slightest bit of misty rain.

"Um, how 'bout Giovanni's?" she offered. Clark turned the idea over in his mind. Giovanni's was a step down from _Montmartre_, but still nice. Besides, he couldn't think of anything better.

"You like Giovanni's?" Clark asked for confirmation.

"Sure. I swear I was Italian in another life," she replied.

"Great," Clark said, heartening a little. "Let's go."

Fifteen minutes later they were in the said restaurant's foyer. Clark took a look around. The lights were dim, the fragrance was nice, and there was some live entertainment. This could be a nice evening after all. As soon as they hit the door, Lois handed Clark her purse and excused herself to the bathroom. Clark approached the hostess.

"Party of?" she asked.

"Two," Clark replied.

"Name?"

"Kent."

"Smoking or non?"

"_Non!_" Clark emphasized. This was Lois after all.

"Forty-five minute wait," she said. "We'll call you when a table's ready."

Clark nodded and strolled over to one of the benches that lined the lounge. Moments later, Lois reappeared. Her hair was down.

"God those bobby pins hurt," she remarked. "What's the wait?"

"Forty-five minutes," Clark said calmly.

"And so we're _leaving_?" Lois said.

"No, I thought we'd wait."

"You thought wrong," she said.

"Lois, it's Friday night and 7:00. There's going to be a wait everywhere."

"Not at Hometown Buffet," she replied.

"Home _what_?" Clark said, aghast. Hometown Buffet _was_ the _definition_ of adult McDonald's. Besides, it was a _chain_ restaurant.

"I said _Hometown Buffet_," she repeated even more confidently. "C'mon Clark. They serve roast beef and potatoes on Friday." She took on a manly tone, "And you're a 'beef and potatoes' guy aren't you?" Clark replied with a face of aversion. "And salmon?" she offered. He wasn't assuaged. "C'mon Clark," she said taking her purse and pulling him onto his feet. After one final longing glance at the guitar player in the corner, Clark followed her into the now pouring rain.

"I'll pull the car around," Clark said, and left Lois standing under the awning by the curb. He jogged across the lot, feeling dread as he contemplated how the night was going. They were over an hour in and had yet to even find a place to eat. He was growing more ornery with every moment, and Lois was still oblivious to the fact that this was anything other than a way to kill time after a week of work. He wasn't even sure the anniversary ruse was still working.

Clark had the fleeting thought of calling the whole thing off, picking up a pizza and two beers, offering to go back to his place and watch the horror flick in his trunk. The simple fact was that this whole thing was never going to get off the ground; he and Lois were too -- too combustible. She was totally indifferent to, if not totally unaware of, his feelings for her, and he was so securely on her "friends" list, he sometimes wondered if she remembered he was a guy at all. She didn't flinch in announcing to him her time of the month, and if she asked him if her slip was hanging one more time he thought he would croak. Who was he kidding?

But then, there were those things that kept him strung along: she was funny and witty. She was feisty and gregarious. She was smart as a whip, and sometimes, when he landed on her balcony, after a long night of wrangling with the monstrous and vile, she melted in his hands like putty, told him her secrets, and made him feel like the man he really was deep inside. These were the things that kept him hoping that one day she would open her eyes and see him, Clark Kent, standing in front of her and realize that he was all she wanted in the world.

And hell or high-water, she would know that tonight.

He pulled up beside the curb, and Lois was nowhere to be seen. He illegally parked in the fire lane, and checked to see if she had gone back inside. He found her in the foyer, fuming, and soaking wet. Some guy was patting her down with a rag.

"Some jerk-off sprayed me as he flew by," she explained.

"Aw, man, Lois," Clark groaned, imagining her misery.

"Yeah, and you have to take me home."

"_Home?_" Clark said, sounding childishly disappointed.

"I mean, we can still go out and eat, Clark, but I have to change."

"Of course," he said, now sounding too relieved. "I'm parked out front." They headed out.

The journey back to her house was prickly, as she just barely survived being covered in street gunk tea. Pulling in front of her condo, she ran out and up to her place. Clark stayed in the car, trying to figure out if this night would ever get back on track. With Hometown Buffet on the horizon, it wasn't looking good. Clark turned on the radio.

It was then that he heard a muffled scream coming from nearby. Since his re-entry into the superhero closet, if he had any doubt at all that a scream or yelp was even remotely ignorable, he put it out of mind. But there was no use; this was a cry of distress—there was no ignoring this. And it didn't sound too far away. Jumping out of the car, he jogged down the road, all the while the sound getting louder. To his horror, it was coming from a manhole. He looked around to see if anyone was watching. After determining the coast was reasonably clear, he pulled the cover off to find a woman holding on for dear life from the rushing water below. With one hand, he reached down and pulled her up.

"What were you doing down there?" he asked, trying to sound concerned but sincerely bewildered.

"He's trying to kill me," she sobbed, clinging to Clark and hysterical. "Thank you, thank you, thank you so much. I screamed and I screamed, but no one heard me, I thought I was going to die down there when it started raining. Oh my God. Thank you, thank you."

"It's okay," Clark said, holding her to him. By this point, they were both soaking wet. "Who is trying to kill you?"

"My husband. He works for the city, and he threw me down there."

"For God sakes," Clark said, mortified.

"Don't leave me," the woman said. Clark panicked. He had just ripped the lid off of a manhole and with one hand and pulled a woman out. When she calmed down, she, or anyone might have questions about who he was. Besides, he had to get back to Lois. "Please don't leave me." she continued to plead.

"I can call for help, but I might have to leave. You have to promise me you will wait until help arrives, okay?"

"Please don't leave me, please, please!" the woman began to scream even more frantically, and it began to dawn on Clark that the woman might be in shock. He hated to do this, but he hit her in the head with the palm of his hand, knocking her out. He then supersped to the hospital and placed her in the ambulance bay. She was bound to be found by someone. Then, he sped off.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed since the ordeal, but when he returned, he still didn't see Lois. He hopped back into his car.

Seconds later, she reappeared, blurry through the rain cascading on the window. She tapped on the window, and Clark rolled it down. It was then he noticed that she was wearing a pair of slacks and a polo shirt; all traces of anything close to femininity were probably either in the hamper or washed down the drain.

"Where were you?" she asked.

"Um, I had to use the bathroom," he lied.

"Hmm," she replied from underneath her umbrella. "I'm gonna take my car. Also, I got a better idea for where we can go."

"Where?" Clark said. At this point, he would agree to Kentucky Fried Chicken.

"Follow me," she said, and ran to her car.

Clark trailed her as she went further and further away from downtown. His curiosity turned to concern when they hit Gunmetal Bridge. He hit the handless call button on his phone.

"Lois," he said out loud. Ring, ring, ring.

"Yeah, Clark," she answered.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see," she said, and hung up.

Seconds later they pulled up to Burt's Bar & Grill, a place that Clark had only heard of, and was pretty sure was more bar than grill.

"What's this?" Clark said as they walked up.

"A place I used to frequent when I was in college. I still drop by sometimes when I need to unwind. We'll have fun."

As they hit the door, Clark was first startled to see the sign announcing it was karaoke night. Apparently Lois saw it as well.

"Awesome!" she yelped, or rather hollered, over the noise inside. "I love karaoke!"

"And I don't," Clark replied stopping in his tracks. "Let's go Lois." She pouted. "No seriously, I have a movie in the truck and--"

"No," she said grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the bar stools. They took a seat. Someone up front was doing a tone deaf but spirited rendition of _Redneck Woman._ The crowd seemed to be enjoying it.

"What'll it be?" the forty-ish looking bartender asked.

"Beer Nuts," Clark grumbled.

"What you got, Tony?" Lois said. The man looked again.

"Well, hi there, Lois." he said, crossing over the bar to give her a hug. He nodded to Clark. "Who's the suit?"

"Oh," Lois replied. "This is my workmate, Clark." The men exchanged nods. _Workmate?_, Clark thought.

"Well, Lois, we got, you know, the usual stuff. Burgers, beef brisket, rib baskets, pulled pork. I think Ted might even have whipped up some red beer soup with kraut on the side tonight. Ever had it?" Lois shook her head. "Well, it's spicy as the devil with a bacon flavor," he explained. "Won't do nothing for hard day at work, though."

"Mmmm," Lois said, wide-eyed and grinning. "I'll take a bowl of that with a Bloody Mary." she turned. "What about you Clark?" Clark sighed.

"You got a menu?" he asked.

"Sorry, actually, we don't. We just have, y'know, the usual stuff."

"Just give me the biggest burger you have," Clark sighed, crossing his arms, "and a shot of whiskey."

"Basket of fries?" the man offered.

"Yeah," Clark said.

"Coming up," the man said, and walked off.

Lois looked around bright eyed. "This is great," she said. "A lot more relaxed."

"Yeah," Clark said. Earlier, if someone had told him that he would have ended up here, he would have said they were out of their mind. But Clark was trying to resign himself to the idea, and, since they were here, he might as well get this show on the road.

"So," Clark said throwing out his feelers. "Five years."

"Of what?" Lois said.

"Of us, together. Partners. Compadres."

"Yeah," Lois said, nodding, but her attention was clearly torn between him and the "redneck woman" on stage.

"Man, we've been to hell and back together," Clark said.

"Yeah, we have," Lois said.

"I'm glad we got to go out tonight together, because, y'know. We're together all the time but never actually..._together_."

"Nope," Lois replied, vacantly.

"And sometimes I feel like, I don't know, I feel like that's a shame. Since, y'know, we get along so well. We have a real chemistry."

"Yep," Lois said. Their drinks arrived.

"So," he said aimlessly.

"So," Lois echoed, and sipped on her drink. They stared at each other -- mute...and bored.

"C'mon folks, nobody. I mean nobody?" The guy leading the _"entertainment"_ for the evening apparently was having trouble finding a person willing to victimize the crowd with another bad cover from 80's hair bands. "We have over 1100 songs. Somebody pass that book around."

"I'll go," came a voice from Clark's right. Clark just shook his head as Lois winked at him over her shoulder and marched to the front to do what she did best: ham it up. "Did you come here to party, or did you come here to _party_!" Lois called from the stage. At least forty voices yelled back the only option they were presented, and (after consulting briefly with the DJ) she launched into _Here for the Party._ Apparently all 1100 options were from Gretchen Wilson.

Five minutes later, with the food before him, Clark was more than ready for a little less action and a lot more conversation.

"Lois --" he started, but was interrupted.

"Clark, oh my God, that was so much fun. Okay, what song are you going to do?"

"Excuse me?" he replied.

"Which song? Let me think -- what song is good for Clark Kent?"

"I'm not doing a song, Lois."

"'Nine to Five' by Dolly Parton."

"Or _Sound of Silence_ by Simon and Garfunkel."

"That's a good one," she replied.

"I was joking."

"Ooooh, I got one!" she chirped. "'Brown Eyed Girl'. Everyone likes that song. I bet you know the words."

"I repeat: I'm not doing a song, Lois."

Crestfallen, she turned in her stool and dug into her soup. Clark noticed.

"It's not that I wanna be a killjoy; I just can't sing."

"Oh, like he can." She pointed to a short blond guy lasciviously subjecting the crowd to "Like a Virgin."

"Lois, why can't we just talk?" Clark offered.

"Because you don't do that very well either."

Clark was taken aback. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"You know, for a couple hours there, I thought, 'This is nice. Me, Clark, just having dinner and unwinding after work, without office politics, my constant rushing and....Clark's drama.' I thought that maybe we could just let our hair down and have a really nice time."

"And what changed?" Clark asked.

"Where did you go earlier?" she asked.

"When?" Clark asked

"When I went in to change."

"To the bathroom. I told you."

"And got _that_ wet running ten feet to my building? Hello, I sniff out lies for a living, and you thought I bought that?"

She had a point. "Okay, I helped push a lady's car that was stalling out of huge puddle."

"And you couldn't tell me that?" Lois asked, incredulous.

"I didn't think you cared...Why do you care?"

"I don't. That's why I'm trying to have a good time here tonight, and instead you've spent the whole night raining on my parade."

"Raining on _your_ parade?" Clark said shocked. "If you recall we started at a --"

"Four-star restaurant, I know, Clark," she finished. "And that's not my speed."

"And this isn't _my_ speed, but I'm not throwing a tantrum about it," Clark said. And then regretted it.

"Tantrum? You haven't _seen_ a tantrum," she retorted.

"I didn't mean that," he retracted.

"You know what Clark, I have no idea why you brought me out here tonight, but if it has anything to do with trying to change my mind about the things I feel very strongly about at work -- "

"What?!" Clark yelled.

"-- I am who I am and I'm not changing for anyone."

"What. The. Hell. Are you talking about?"

"You didn't think I would notice that you left, and then you lied about it. And you're always meeting with Perry, and getting all these good stories. I'm not an idiot Clark."

"We're _friends_ Lois. You really think I'd sell out like that?" She turned her head accusingly. "What could I have even done to make that happen? I don't assign myself stories. I don't hang out with the brass. I see Perry between nine and five just like you do."

"I don't know what you'd do Clark, but I have to look out for _me_."

"Don't you always?" Clark said under his breath.

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?" she snapped back. Clark just looked at her. "_What,_ Clark?"

"Sometimes you're so wrapped up in yourself you can't even see what's right in front of your face."

"Excuse me," a man said who was approaching them. He nodded towards Clark. "This man giving you any trouble?"

Lois looked at Clark then back at the man. "Why, wanna dance?" she said.

"Sure," the man said. Lois slinked from her stool and took off with the gent.

Clark looked on with supreme frustration and hurt. "Screw you, Lois," he mumbled, threw forty on the counter, and left.

* * *

Please feed the plot bunnies by leaving a review! Thanks!


	15. Next

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: NEXT**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers_

* * *

Clark wasn't so much _mad_ at Lois -- well yeah, he was mad at her. But more accurately, he was numb. Just to hear her voice, to see her face, to _think_ of her put him in a mental black hole. Everything about last night had been a complete exercise in delusion, but he knew it was the wake-up call he should have answered long ago. Lois showed him everyday that she was egocentric and self-absorbed, yet it took a five-hour, wild-goose chase around Metropolis to make that fact clear to him. She was the exact _opposite_ of what he needed (or even _wanted_) in a friend, in a lover, in a...wife. He cringed when he thought of the time, energy and emotion he had spent pining after the self-centered wench sitting across the room. And really, he didn't even feel like devoting another minute to figuring it all out. All he knew for sure is that he wished he would never see her again in his life, and the odds of that happening were only slightly better than _The Daily Planet_ turning into a circus and going on a world tour.

So work went by quietly. _Very_ quietly. It was only made worse by the fact that neither had fieldwork, and they were both spending a large portion of their Monday morning in the office. Where were meetings when you needed them?

"Clark, what's the password to virtual dump of the file share?" Lois grumbled.

Clark resisted the urge to come back with a facetious reply. They had been using this new system for three months, and she still needed to be walked through every window. "FBG268_9T."

She replied with some unintelligible utterance that Clark took for thank you.

And that pretty much summed up their morning conversation.

Lunch rolled around, and while Clark and Lois frequently ate apart, on languid days like today, it was nothing for them to mindlessly end up eating with each other. Unlike most of the people that worked there, Lois and Clark had a history, and more often than not, they found themselves...together.

That kind of solidarity can be a nightmare when it's coming to an end.

Clark was the first to leave and wander into the bustle of people naïve enough, important enough, or secure enough to actually take a noon lunch. Many didn't take lunch at all, even though _The Planet_ had several dining options. There was a cafe/deli/salad bar style restaurant on the first floor called Terra that rivaled any lunch spot in downtown Metropolis. There were also break rooms scattered on every floor. Clark usually ate in what was known in those parts as the commons. It was basically a huge concrete room, scantly decorated, and scattered with tables, chairs, drink machines, and occasionally even carts bearing whatever was leftover from catered meetings. The commons was something in between Terra and the lounges: big enough to have some privacy in dining, but bare enough to skip protocol -- like purchasing food, and tipping. It was the dining room of choice for people who brought lunches, were having bad days, or dated at work. It was an eclectic bunch.

And Clark was sick of being eclectic. He wanted to be...

"Hello Clark," Rebecca said from behind. "I emailed you the confirmation on those requisitions. You get it?"

"Yeah," Clark said flatly.

"Good." She glanced down. "Nice tie," she remarked. Clark glanced down himself -- it was new. "Well, I'm off to lunch," she chirped while grabbing her purse and placing a sign on her desk that said: "Back at 1:00."

"Rebecca," he called as she walked off towards the elevator. She turned around. "Eating with anyone?"

"No, I'll probably just grab a salad at Terra. Why?"

"Mind if I join you?" Clark asked, already drawing closer.

She held the elevator door open for her reply.

* * *

Feedback is _greatly _appreciated and cherished. New update tomorrow.


	16. Terra

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN: TERRA**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers. _

* * *

"So what do you usually get when you come here?" Rebecca asked from behind the oversized menu.

"Um, I don't come much," Clark stammered. The waitress approached to take their orders.

"My name is Nadine. What will we be having today?" she asked.

"Garden salad with light raspberry vinaigrette," Rebecca said.

"To drink?"

"Diet Coke," she replied, handing the woman her menu.

"Okay, and you, sir?" she said to Clark.

"Um, yikes, I don't know?" He frantically scanned the menu. He was totally indecisive outside of his tights.

"You care if a lady orders for you?" Rebecca offered. She seemed innocent enough, but after last night, boldness in a skirt was the last thing he wanted.

"I got it," he replied, sounding brisker than he wanted.

"Suit yourself," she said.

"I'll just take a mandarin salad with cup of potato soup and a root beer," he said. The lady took his menu and whisked off.

In spite of himself, Clark couldn't shake his mood. Just yesterday he had thought that today might be the first day of the rest of his life, but now he was replaying a bad conversation in his mind on loop and questioning his future, his values, and the direction his life was taking. His mood was irreversibly sullen. Rebecca looked on as the two sat in silence, and Clark began to squirm as one minute turned to two, and two turned to ten. He knew he and Rebecca had things to talk about: they always chatted around the office. And yet, here they were having lunch together and he was at a total loss for words. The insanity hijacking his brain wasn't helping either. He even started to consider getting take-out and bolting back to his office.

"You read much?" Rebecca suddenly asked.

"Um, yeah actually. I've gotten back into reading lately. I read quite a bit when I was younger, but kind of fell off in college, and--" he stopped. "Why?"

"Because I'm reading a fabulous book by Travis Keith. The New Orleans Effect --"

"Disasters Waiting to Happen," Clark interrupted. "I just finished reading it."

"Oh my God, I have three chapters to go. So how did you like it?"

"Absolutely fascinating," Clark chuckled. "Gloomy, but fascinating. Did you read about his theories on the Great Lakes?'

"Yeah, I did actually," she said. "His arguments were hauntingly convincing -- and really make me want to go visit Milwaukee while I still have a chance." They both laughed. "So how did you stumble upon the book? It must be more popular than I thought?"

"No, I don't think so. I just noticed it while I was in Texas a few weeks ago."

"Texas? Wow, what's in Texas?" she asked.

_An oil refinery explosion_, Clark thought. "Business. Business took me there."

"Oh. I guess I didn't help book that trip," she remarked. "Anyway, business travel is the worst. In meetings all day, stuck in tourist traps, long days. Well, at least you had enough time to look around some. If you're anything like me, I love going in old book stores and seeing what they have other than the latest diet book or lightweight bestseller."

"Me too," Clark said. "Growing up on a farm, I think I appreciate small businesses, 'pesky' salesmen, and long afternoons lost in the bookstore more than a lot of people."

"Me too," she agreed. She leaned over and whispered. "Have you ever read a whole novel in the bookstore coffee shop?"

"Are you kidding?" Clark replied. "Of course. Or no, how about walking in and a cashier yells, 'Mr. Kent we put one of the new mysteries on hold just for you?'"

She laughed. "Yes, yes. Or how about your credit card calling because of the 'suspiciously expensive' purchases being made at the bookstore." Clark laughed. That even beat him.

"That's hilarious," he croaked.

Just then the waitress arrived with their food. They dug in silently for a while, eating what they could on the lunch break that was already half gone. After a time, Rebecca spoke again.

"I'm glad you had lunch with me today, Clark. I don't know if you could tell or not, but I've been having a really tough time lately, and, well…I'm glad you were here to kill some time with."

"I hadn't noticed, but I enjoyed this too," Clark replied.

"Maybe we can do this again sometime," she said. Clark nodded. They got up to leave and Clark took the bill.

"No Clark, you shouldn't do that--_really_."

"No, I want to," Clark said. "I'm celebrating."

"Why?" Rebecca asked, curious.

"Why not?" he replied. "Besides, today is the first day of the day of the rest of my life."

* * *

**A/N:** All feedback will be welcomed with open arms, offered something to drink and permitted to spend the night. Another update tomorrow.


	17. Impasse

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: IMPASSE**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers_

* * *

Clark went merrily back to his office. He'd almost totally forgotten the frosty tension that awaited him there. He took a deep breath outside the door before he went in. Lois was right behind him.

"Are you going in or not?" she asked. Saying nothing, he went in.

"Ladies first my foot," she muttered as she sorted through what was presumably her mail. "Do you know what I hate most about Mondays Clark?" she asked with stunning ease.

"Excuse me?" was Clark's tart reply.

"I said, 'do you know what I hate most about Mondays?'" She threw her feet on the table and leaned back in her trademark pose. "The junk mail and work that's accumulated over the weekend. While the rest of the world is shopping and picnicking and getting in family dysfunction, the pressroom is filling up with work and junk mail." She stopped herself. "But it's Monday. I shouldn't be complaining. I should be reporting what makes me happy."

Clark stared with sheer astonishment. "We're talking now?" he asked.

"Why not?" she said, dead serious. "Come on, Clark, I know you're mad at me. I kind of figured that out when you left me high and dry at that bar. Thank God I brought my own car."

"I didn't leave you high and dry, I covered the bill...and why am I having this conversation?" Clark said, going to his desk and beginning to work.

"Awww, Clarky Warky," Lois said, making her way over and sitting on the edge of his desk. "I figured that after a whole weekend and a lunch break, we should be back in business."

"Well you figured wrong," Clark said, involuntarily moving over.

"Clark, are you serious?" she asked, the reality starting to settle in. "We bicker all the time."

"Yeah, well maybe I'm sick of that." And really, he was pretty much through with this conversation too.

"Oh my God: I really hurt your feelings. I'm sorry Clark," she said, and leaned over to peck him on the cheek. He yanked his head away. "Wow," she said, nodding. "That was cold." She hopped off his desk and went back to her own. "Have it your way. Let's pout and moan and drag this out for a hundred months like we're in high school. Maybe I'll drop this class."

"Or," Clark began, "how about we act like adults and stop ignoring the fact that maybe this arrangement isn't working anymore, and that we need to come to terms with some basic issues in our relationship."

"Issues, huh?" Lois began. "Like maybe the fact that after five years of working here, you still don't have your act together. Like the fact that you're late, disorganized, and unfocused."

"I'm not hearing this."

"While I eat, breathe and sleep my craft, you take it for granted like you're destined for greatness. And why? Because you have me to fall back on. Let me tell you something, Clark: you have my trust only because I _want_ you to have it and not because you've done a _single_ thing to earn it --"

"Yeah, Lois, not a single thing."

"And the fact is you lie to me constantly, Clark about things that don't even matter. But do I call you on it?"

"Thanks for your graciousness, Lois; what would I do without a mommy like you?"

She jumped up. "Be in the unemployment line. Because I can't tell you how many times my 'partner' has been MIA right when I needed him the most. And after covering for you six _zillion_ times, this is the thanks I get."

"Don't even act like this is some kind of some lop-sided burden! You make sure that _you_ are the center of your own universe. And _I_ am your moon."

"You're insane."

"You keep me on a short leash, Lois, under the guise of mentorship --"

"This is classic jealousy because I am a_ women_. And you know what Clark? That's arrogance."

"Arrogance! _Arrogance?_ If I even as so much as _pretend_ like I have an opinion, or assert myself, or God forbid get a better story than you, then I'm the latest recruit to the cult of the 'Global Press.' You're totally oblivious to the fact that beyond the microcosm of your own egocentrism that there is a whole world out there of people—heroes really—fighting everyday to keep the world turning, and they don't demand glory, or honor, or by-lines to keep them going. And maybe if you could just take off that attitude you walk around with for five minutes --"

"You are so _incredibly_ juvenile!" Lois screamed.

"You are so, so....demoralizing!" Clark hollered in return.

"_Demoralizing?_" Lois repeated mockingly. She shook her head. "You know what? Whatever -- I don't even care. I don't know why you're here, Clark, but I'm here to work." She grabbed a stack of forms and opened the door. Rebecca was standing there. Lois passed her briskly, barely even noticing her.

"Wow, you all fight like an old married couple," Rebecca laughed as she stepped in. "I hope that was nothing serious?"

"She'll be fine," Clark said, collecting himself. "So what can I do for you?"

"Nothing really," she said, flicking the hair from her face."After our conversation today, I wanted to know if you would be interested in reading a book I finished up a little while ago."

"Sure," Clark said eagerly. He rose to meet her.

"But you don't even know what it is yet," Rebecca noted, smiling.

"I trust your judgment," Clark said, drawing closer.

"Fine then," she replied. "I'll bring it in tomorrow."

"Or," Clark offered, boldly, "I could come pick it up myself." Rebecca raised a brow. "If that's okay?"

"That's fine," she said. "I'll send you my address when I get back to my desk."

"Sounds good," Clark said.

"Good," she said, and left.

* * *

Thank you for your encouraging feedback!


	18. Survellience

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: SURVELLIENCE**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers _

* * *

Lex understood that not everyone had the charisma, money, or…_grooming_ that he possessed. It was from these deficient ranks that he had hired some of his best henchmen. But why did one have to be _quite_ _so_ repulsive?

Murphy slunk into Lex's office at LuthorCorp and began to regurgitate day-old news. Lex interrupted him.

"I know; all pistons are firing. Alison, Joanne, and Harold are all back on board."

"Just as you wished," Murphy added, wiping his sweaty palm against his sweaty forehead. "It's amazing how an illegitimate child, a sham marriage, and college abortion can rally the troops." He cackled to himself.

"Sham marriage?" Lex asked.

"Harold is gay," Murphy clarified.

"Ugh. Were there no suitable men available?" Lex said, exasperated. He grabbed a golf club. "What a tired cliché." He swung the club fiercely in the direction of some far off distance in his mind. "If there is nothing else, Murphy, you are dismissed."

"There is…_something_," Murphy said.

"Enlighten me," Lex responded.

"One of your security details informed me that they have surveillance video of Lois Lane and an unidentified blond snooping around the grounds of the old lab."

"Which old lab?" Lex asked. "Greater Metropolis is scattered with former LuthorCorp real estate."

"Lachlan Labs," Murphy said. Lex looked intrigued.

"Lachlan Labs, you say?" He placed the club down and looked out of his picturesque window. Metropolis was stunning at dawn. Murphy made an offer. "I could check her out, blackmail her. We could scare her…you know thug style," he giggled to himself. "Got a few other tricks up my sleeve for this one. Say the word…I'll shut it down."

Lex turned around. "Shut _what_ down?"

"Um," Murphy stalled. He was already lost. "I don't know."

"Neither do I," Lex said. He chose another club and resumed his teeing position. "Don't do anything. Ms. Lane is one of the most respected journalists in the country. She must know something. Let's keep an eye on her to figure out what it is."

* * *

Another update tomorrow. Your feedback waters my mindgrapes.


	19. Visit

**CHAPTER NINETEEN: VISIT**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers._

**Note: **So I lied; you're getting an update 12 hours later.

* * *

"This is home," Rebecca said, tossing her purse on the couch.

The inside of Rebecca's townhouse was surprisingly posh. A slight and decorative entertainment center was poised in the left corner, framing an in-wall television and the kinds of well-hidden, form over function entertainment electronics that were all the rage. Two miniature trees stood guard at its sides. The couch, loveseat, and coffee table were all low, incredibly inviting, and painstakingly coordinated with the curtains, carpet, and contemporary artwork that adorned the walls. When Rebecca entered the "living room," the lights came on automatically, growing brighter until the room was well-lit without being blaringly bright. The apartment had all the marks of a place that was intended to be seen.

And a place that Rebecca shouldn't be able to afford.

"Nice place you have here," Clark remarked. "Remind me what it is you do for a living?" Rebecca laughed.

"A little taste and a lot of thrift go a long way. Besides, I trust my broker; he's made some wise decisions for me over the years."

Clark nodded in agreement. He walked over to her liquor cabinet. This was where the pretense ended. Clark was no drinker, but in another life he had received quite an education on fine spirits, and all of her wines looked like they had been purchased from the local grocery store. The liquors were wholly untouched. Rebecca was clearly a lightweight, which was just as well with Clark, since, for him, drinking—and his subsequent lack of inebriation—was always a tricky business.

"Want something to drink?" he said, running his fingers across the bottles.

"Yeah, but nothing in there," Rebecca called from...from some other room. It was then Clark noticed that he was alone. "There are a couple of beers in the fridge. Grab those."

Clark nodded, making his way to the kitchen. The previous display of decorating sense continued here, and Clark was presented to swank appliances--a fusion of chrome, glass, linen, and granite that was finished with a dash of conservative color. It made his kitchen look like it was furnished by Fisher-Price. He opened the door and grabbed the beers from the nearly bare fridge.

He reemerged into the living room, ale in hand, and sat down. Moments later Rebecca returned, her suit jacket, shoes and hose discarded, and hopped on the couch next to him, feet outstretched on his lap. She wiggled her toes, and Clark took this as a prompt for massage. Her feet were beautiful, manicured, and...fragrant even.

"Wow," she said, leaning back. "I need to bring you home more often." She sighed. "So Clark, tell me about yourself."

Clark glanced up sideways with a laugh on his lips. "What do you mean?"

"You know, whatever you would put in a blog profile. Nothing too personal."

Clark thought he could manage that. "Well. I was born in 1987 as far as I can tell…I was adopted." He looked for a reaction, but there was none. "And um, I grew up in a little town about three hours from here. Smallville. Heard of it?"

She thought hard for a moment. "Yes, um, the meteor showers of 2004. I remember that. We had to do a report on that when I was in junior high."

"Junior high, huh?" Clark said. "So, how old does that make you? If that's not too personal?"

She laughed. "Of course not, silly. I'm twenty-three." Clark nodded. It made Clark feel a little old -- not that it mattered.

"Well, anyway," he continued, "that's where I grew up."

"Got any brothers or sisters?"

"My folks took in a foster kid or two. But no, no siblings." Clark said. "I grew up on a farm. A lot of room and a lot of hard work. Everything important I've ever known I learned from my parents on that farm. Sometimes I miss it."

"Wow, your parents sound like good people. I'd love to meet them."

Clark nodded. "Someday," he said. He didn't mention his father. "And you?"

"And me," Rebecca sighed. "Well, I am the second of three daughters. I grew up in San Jose, California."

"California?" Clark repeated. "You're a West Coast girl."

"Guilty," she laughed. "My mom is a physician, an OB-GYN, and my dad is a screenplay editor, so his work has always taken him to LA a lot. They were good parents too. They taught me all the basics: wipe your nose, say 'please' and 'thank you,' and donate to PETA. They drove BMWs, but they were hippies at heart."

"Wow," Clark said. "Are you vegan, by any chance?"

"Yes," Rebecca responded enthusiastically. "I am. Are you?"

Clark waited a beat before answering. These were the moments that he regretted that lying came so easily to him. "Um, no, I am…well, not."

"Oh," Rebecca said, possibly disappointed. "Vegetarian, then?"

"No," he said with some regret.

"Oh, okay," Rebecca said. She looked confused. "I'm sorry; why did you ask?"

"It's just that I went to Calliou last week, and--,"

"I love that place!" she squealed. "Did you like it?"

"It was…special," Clark said.

"Oh, I knew you would," she replied, relieved. She pushed her finger into his chest. "There's a little vegan in there waiting to come out."

"Yep, little vegan," Clark echoed. She suddenly started.

"Oh, the book!" Rebecca said. She leapt from her seat and raced to the back. Clark took a swig from his beer. Rebecca came back with the book in outstretched arms.

"Here," she said. "_The Way Home_, by George Pelecanos. It's a crime novel. I love, love, love this book."

"Huh," Clark said, taking the book and examining the cover. He'd read the novel a few years back, and it had been a _great_ read. He remembered being shaken up for a week after reading it. He went to speak and looked up at Rebecca, but then he just…stopped. He was arrested--it was like he was seeing her for the first time. Her face…it was happy and animated and curious and radiant. She was looking at him, eagerly waiting for his comment, wondering what he thought, interested in _him_ --in what he might tell her.

He could have frozen that moment and stayed there forever.

"Why do you like this book?" Clark asked after a time. He wanted to hear what she would say.

Rebecca sighed with contentment. She was all teeth when she smiled. "In some ways it's hard-boiled – no flowery language, no witty flourishes, but you still get this compelling story about redemption and self-realization. It manages to be a page-turner _and_ this great commentary at the same time." She placed one palm on the book. "It's just a great book. You'll see when you read it."

Clark glanced down at the book again. "Rebecca," he said, "would you mind reading it to me?"

"_To_ you?" she asked.

"Yeah. Just a chapter or two."

She took the volume from his hands and slid in beside him, tucking herself under his large frame. She opened the book, spreading it across her lap. Clark closed his eyes, and she took a breath. And then, she began to read.

"No one could say why it was called Pine Ridge. Wasn't any pines around that Chris could see. Just a group of one-story, L-shaped, red brick buildings set on a flat dirt-and-mud clearing…"

------

"It's New Music Tuesday at 106.5 The Jolt, and we want to give you free tickets to see The Band Called Now at the Metropolis U Convocation Center next Saturday. Just be the 106th caller and…"

The radio was the companion that it was, but like a dear friend who's always the last one to leave, it was only making Lois more tired. Lois took a shot at silence.

Then she reconsidered. She grabbed her remote and turned on instrumental Argentinean tango music.

_Ahhh_, she thought. _Much better_.

There was work to be done, and it must be done tonight. Gathering her thoughts, she went to write.

So much to write.

In addition to the CDC story, which was quickly taking over her life, she also had two new stories that Perry had assigned her that she was behind on. One was due tomorrow, and another by Friday, but the looming deadlines only made her want to lock herself in the bathroom. Even worse than a lack of time, she lacked motivation to write them. She had done quite a bit of legwork on the story about the delays on the midtown bridge, and Perry had even thrown her a bone and given her a story about the city council members' expense accounts. But despite having emails, forms, and even a couple punchy first sentences already down the hatch, she stared at the screen with a blank stare.

This felt like work.

She remembers a time when she used to eat, sleep and breathe this. She'd skip lunch for weeks, use her own money to do research, read the thesaurus like a novel, and fall asleep typing when the day was done. But now, outside of this CDC story—which, in all honesty, was little more than a personal hobby—the daily grind of producing made her feel more like a laborer churning out words and less like a career professional perfecting her art.

Her life lacked balance.

She'd known it for some time, really, but avoiding action had just been easier. Now, with her relationship with Clark on empty, her job satisfaction waning, and no social life to speak of, ignoring the void was becoming harder to do. She wasn't even going to the gym anymore. Was this all she had to show for her life at 30 years old?

And then there was Superman.

A while ago he had confided in her that his real name was Kal-El. Since then, she had taken to calling him Kal in her mind, like "Kal said he would be in Gotham today," or "I can't believe Kal didn't kill that cretin on sight," or "I haven't talked to Kal in a while; I should give him a call." Except that, you didn't call Kal.

Kal called you.

And Kal hadn't called in a long time.

The thought made her sad, and she got up from the floor and lied down on the couch. She knew it was silly, this thing she had for Superman. She often felt like a fourteen year old pledging her undying love to the frontman of some boy's band. Yet, she reveled in the moments they had together: the flights in the night sky, their long talks on the balcony, the embraces in his strong arms. Their connection had always been tacit, unspoken, even delicate, but she had never doubted it was mutual.

Not until now.

She heard the ping of a new email message alert and crawled back to her laptop. It said that she had received an email from…_Anonymous_. Immediately she opened it.

"Meet me tomorrow at 11:45 PM at 325 Suicide Slum Drive."

She immediately input it in her calendar. Tomorrow she would get some answers.

* * *

Feeback makes me squee!


	20. Shipping

**CHAPTER TWENTY: SHIPPING**  
_See Chapter 1, for story headers_

* * *

Knock, knock.

The storm door rattled under Lex's knuckles. Despite the racket, no one came to the door. Lex was poised to leave when he saw a man—the man he was looking for—coming from the back of the house. He descended from the porch, meeting the man halfway.

Their first exchange was one of looks: Lex's was amused, while the man's was…stunned, and maybe a little frightened.

"No salutation, then?" Lex said. "Perhaps you've forgotten who I am, Gabe."

"I could never forget who you are, Lex," Gabe replied, rousing from his trance. "Who sent you here?"

"Sent me here?" Lex asked. Why would someone send me here?"

Gabe covered his face with his hands, momentarily collecting himself, before marching past Lex. "There's nothing we need to talk about."

"Oh, but I think there might be," Lex said, following Gabe onto the porch. Just then, Gabe's wife Ilinca opened the door. Initially smiling, her face changed to concern.

"_Cine este el?_" she asked Gabe—Who is he? Gabe glanced at Lex.

"Bună, eu sunt Lex," Lex replied, extending his hand. Ilinca came forward to take it.

"You know Romanian?" Gabe asked, surprised...or maybe disgusted.

"I'm afraid that's the extent of what I know," Lex replied.

"You would like something to drink, yes?" Ilinca offered.

"Thank you, I would," Lex said. Gabe shot him a look as his wife retreated to the house.

"I thought you weren't staying," Gabe said.

"I'm not, but this will afford us a few moments of privacy," Lex began. He handed Gabe a list. "Where are these people currently?"

Gabe hurriedly perused the paper before handing it back. "Your guess is as good as mine. Sorry. I'll go and cancel your drink order."

"Surely you've seen some of them," Lex said, looking at the list himself. "Buck Holmes, Sohini Desai, Song Jiang, Bob Patel. Hell, _even I_ have seen Robert Trace."

"I haven't seen that gang in twenty years. When I left LuthorCorp, I left for good." He leveled an eye at Lex. "Your father tried to kill me. Remember?"

"Yes, but I saved you, Gabe, and I can again. Just tell me what you know."

"I have my own life now, Lex, and I don't want any part of whatever you and Lois are snooping in. I don't know anything, and I don't want to either."

"Lois?" Lex repeated. So Lois had beaten him here. But of course she had, Lex thought. Gabe was her uncle. Maybe Lex would get the information he wanted after all—with or without Gabe's cooperation.

"I don't know what she's told you, but I'll tell you what I told her—this is ancient history, and it's best left that way."

Lex nodded. "Well then, thank you for your time Gabe; I'll be going." He turned to leave and then stopped just as Gabe was about to close the door. "One more thing—"

Gabe paused, his back to Lex.

"The sealed FBI file on the Lachlan Labs case has become…_un_sealed, and it's in route to my office as we speak. It would be a shame if you were hiding something that I find out is in that file. It could even become a matter of life or death."

Gabe turned to Lex wordlessly before he went in the house and shut the door.

"No goodbye? What is happening to our nation's manners?" Lex remarked to himself and walked towards his car.

* * *

Spare the feedback, spoil the author. Thanks for your comments.


	21. Alley

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: ALLEY**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers _

* * *

Lois was pretty audacious. It was one of the few characteristics she had inherited from The General that didn't make her resentful. Her audacity had served her well: she had taken the initiative with guys too scared to ask her out; she had managed to keep her criminal sister at a love-'em-and-leave-'em distance; she had fought her way back into college, and then to a degree (even after The General had made her feel condemned to a life of being all dressed up with nowhere to go); she had even graduated among the top of her class.

And now, she was walking down a poorly-lit street in downtown -- as in _slum town_ -- Metropolis at midnight to contact a shady informant whom she had never met.

There were a few possible outcomes to this evening. This informant could be exactly as he presented himself -- creepy but amazingly well informed. Or, he might be a serial rapist or some other scummy human being. Scary – except that it just might get her a date with Superman.

Either way, this was going to be good.

The GPS in her car, which was only relevant in the areas of Metropolis not riddled with construction, detours, and traffic (in other words, areas like this), told her that the appointed spot should be...here.

Taking one last look over her shoulder, and clutching a canister of pepper spray, she entered into a truly dark passage, a neglected alley between two buildings of dubious business. All was silent, and her own steps seemed to grow louder with each foot she advanced. She ignored the clumps of unknown matter that littered her path and the uninviting smells, hoping that someone would appear very, very soon. After two eternal minutes, she turned to leave.

And found herself staring into two huge, illuminated green eyes.

She went to yell, but a hand covered her mouth, and her scream went mute. She braced herself for a struggle and first elbowed her assailant firmly in the gut. It was enough for the person to let her go, and spinning on her heels, she sprayed the canister in the vicinity of where a face should be.

"What are you doing here?" came a shocked, and maybe irritated, voice from behind her. She stopped spraying, and turned in the direction of a light. It was coming from a flashlight, one so bright that she was nearly blinded.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

The light switched over to the face opposite her.

"What the -- _Lex?_" she said. "What are you doing here?"

"I believe I asked first," was his cool reply. Lois was in a vortex of confusion. _Who? What? When? Where? Why? How?_ The questions couldn't come fast enough, but the answers were as sparse as fresh air in this rancid ally.

"Lex?" was all she could say. Then she had a realization: It was him all along. She was the pawn in a long, elaborate...ploy? scheme? _joke?_ She didn't want to wait around to be used another minute. She rushed past him.

"Wait, Lois," he called, grabbing her arm.

"Don't touch me," she spat, yanking away. "I can't believe I actually fell for this."

"You think I'm somehow behind this, don't you?" he asked, and God if he didn't sound serious. Lois stopped.

"Game over, Lex! Next time you want to use a woman for your personal amusement, stop next door for a lap dance." She turned and sped off.

"Lois!" he called behind her, and she could feel him following her. "You were waiting for Anonymous, weren't you?" Lois sighed heavily and reluctantly turned around.

"And you _would_ know that Lex because you sent him here." She turned and kept walking, fumbling with her keys as she went; she was still a little rattled.

"No, I didn't," Lex said. "He didn't know I was coming. I've been tracking him for a while now and had a tip that he would be meeting someone here tonight. I had no idea it would be you."

"Sorry to disappoint," she said, now crossing the street. He was jogging behind her. Lex beat her to the car and stood in front of the driver's side door. She went for her phone. "Lex, I would hate to get the cops involved."

"You're right; there is a lab in Metropolis that's developing a deadly microbe." Lex said undaunted. Lois paused in disbelief. She _hadn't_ known that, and she wondered why Lex thought she did.

"What are you talking about?" she heard herself say.

"_I_ know you _think_ that LuthorCorp is developing a deadly microbe. And that's why you're consulting with Anonymous."

Lois did her best to put on a blank face. "Get out of my way," she snarled while dialing Chloe's number. Of course, he didn't know she was bluffing, but Lois knew enough about Lex to know that he was both police and bad-press phobic. He stepped aside from the door. Cutting him one final look, she jumped in the car and drove off. In her rear view mirror, she could see his trench-coat silhouette standing in the middle of the street as it started to rain.

* * *

Your feedback means the world to me. Thanks!


	22. Future

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: FUTURE**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers_

* * *

Clark read the placard aloud.

"Condor is the name for two species of New World vultures, each in a monotypic genus. They are the largest flying land birds in the Western Hemisphere. The California Condor (_Gymnogyps californianus_) is restricted nowadays to western coastal mountains of the United States."

"And this zoo," Rebecca added.

"Did you ever see them out in California?" Clark asked. He handed her the binoculars.

"Once, I remember—in the park." She held the binoculars to her eyes. "I was scared of it. It was huge and kind of monstrous-looking." She looked at Clark. "That's how you think when you're six years old." Clark nodded, and they continued their stroll.

"You hungry?" he asked. They were passing a hot dog stand. Then he remembered. "Sorry," he said. "I forgot."

"It's OK," she said. "If I remember correctly, they have a fruit cart further up."

They walked together in silence. "I'm surprised you eat the way you do," Rebecca said.

Clark felt…uncomfortable. "It's not that I don't like animals. I guess it's just the way I was raised. We had cattle and chickens, and it was nothing to wake up to bacon and eggs sizzling in the skillet."

"No, not that," she clarified. "I mean, you're so strong and buff. I just figured you were some health fanatic." She squeezed one of Clark's biceps and visibly shuddered.

"Good genes, I guess," Clark said.

"But you work out too, I assume. You would have to," Rebecca concluded.

"You know, the normal," Clark said, uncomfortably.

"Which gym do you belong to?" she said. "I've been looking for one to join."

"That one downtown," he answered vaguely before quickly changing the subject. "Panda alert," he blurted and lifted her up, carrying her towards the fence. She squealed.

"They are _adorable_," she said. "And so big." While she watched them, Clark wandered off and bought two large fruit salads. As he was paying, Rebecca walked up.

"How much is mine?" she asked, digging in her purse. Clark handed the vendor the cash and led Rebecca away by the arm. He sat both salads down on a nearby picnic table. "You keep paying for me, Clark, and I might start thinking…" she trailed off.

Clark took her by both hands and pulled her close to him before planting her with a kiss. He could feel her soften under him. When he pulled away her eyes were still closed.

"You might think what?" he asked.

She smiled brightly…all the reply he needed.


	23. Merger

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: MERGER**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers_

* * *

Lois heard…well, not so much a knock on the door, but bustling outside of it. She looked through the peephole and gasped. Against her better judgment, she opened it.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"How did you know I live here?" she asked.

"Who doesn't know you live here?"

"What do you want Mr. Luthor?"

"I didn't come here to scare you—quite the opposite in fact. My investigation of this..._matter_ of mutual interest has led me to some discoveries that make me think we should be working together on this. The persons involved are very dangerous, and I would feel much more comfortable if I knew you were being protected. I came here solely in the interest of your safety."

"Safety?" Lois said incredulously. "Mr. Luthor, I don't need your protection."

"I would be lying if I denied that I also seek your help," Lex added.

Lois waited a beat before responding. "Why should I believe you?"

"Why shouldn't you?"

"That's not a reason."

"Ms. Lane, I know you are tenacious and have the nose of a bloodhound. That's the very reason why you and I have long suspected something is amiss. But I have access to resources that your purse and _The Planet_ could never acquire."

"I have my scruples, Mr. Luthor," Lois said.

"As do I. But truth comes at a premium -- a premium I can provide. Here." He handed her a device that displayed names and photos. "Have you run across any of those people in your investigation?" As she scrolled through, several names jumped out immediately, but there were several that were new. "Some of it looks familiar," she said, returning it to him.

"No, that's yours to keep. I hope it will be the first of many an exchange," he said. She held the device with a mix of trepidation and intense curiosity.

"Ms. Lane, I'll be calling," Lex said, turning to leave.

"That's all?" Lois asked.

"Unless you had something to add?" She shook her head no. Lex walked away.

**THE NEXT DAY**

Lois occasionally took field trips away from her desk. No reason in particular; she just didn't want to be like those journalists that, to everyone's surprise, emerged from their offices at the end of the day, otherwise completely undetected. Besides, it was good to know what was going on in the office, to network a little, to form camaraderie with her colleagues.

"Jason," she called, leaning against the door to his cubicle. Jason Mendes was a junior copyeditor.

"Hello, Lois," he said without looking up and with irritation that Lois chose to ignore.

"So, what you no good?" she said jovially.

"Excuse me?" he said.

"I said, What you no good?" Jason looked on with a mix of confusion and total apathy. She should have known better than to use slang with a grammar Nazi. "How are you do…Never mind Jason," Lois said.

She turned around to find Perry behind her.

"I need to see you in my office," he said, and continued marching.

"Now?" she asked.

"Yes _now_, Lois," he said over his shoulder, irritated. She skipped after him.

"Have a seat," he directed, and she did so. He followed suit and leaned on his desk, crossing his arms. Lois wasn't sure what to expect. "I have to apologize."

The statement took her completely by surprise. By her estimates, this was a Perry White first. "For what?" she asked.

"I'm hearing rumors that the CDC is about to issue a warning."

"For what?" Lois asked.

"I thought you might be able to tell me," he said. "For some reason the CDC, usually trigger-happy, is playing its cards close to the chest. I've never seen them so gun shy."

Lois nodded anxiously, trying to make sense of Perry's mixed metaphors. _Was he really going to say what she thought he was?_

"Do you think you can piece together a blurb about your findings by six today? Nothing too heavy, a skeletal column, less than 600 words. If everything checks out, we'll run it in tomorrow's paper."

"Sure, Perry," she replied, trying to remain calm, "No problem. I'll get right on it."

"Great," he said, and stood to shake her hand.

Lois closed the door behind her as she left. "Yesssss," she whispered, celebrating, and pumped her fist in the air.

* * *

All feedback will be read with devoted attention.


	24. Collaboration

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: COLLABORATION**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers._

* * *

"So, you don't drink?" Lex asked as he waltzed over to his island bar.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Lois remarked as she put her stylus down. And boy could she. "I can hold my liquor with the best of them."

"So what will you be having?"

"What do you have?" Lois said.

Lex cocked an eyebrow. "What _don't_ I have?" he remarked.

Lois thought a moment. She needed this information that Lex was giving, but she wasn't going to let her guard down. "I won't have anything. Thank you. Besides, I'm driving."

"What a shame," Lex replied. "I hate to drink alone."

"Somehow I doubt that," Lois responded. He seemed to take the statement as a challenge and poured himself some tonic water.

Lois took a moment to look around the condo. She still couldn't believe she was actually there…in the Luthor lair. If someone had told her she'd _ever_ darken Lex's door, she'd have immediately reported a future kidnapping. Yet, here she was of her own volition…but not without trepidation.

"I guess we can begin by running down what we know. I am prepared to go first," Lois said. She pulled out her laptop, the device Lex gave her (already going to good use), and a binder. Lex regarded her with a smile.

"Prepared…assertive," he said. "I like that." Lois looked up, somewhat surprised. "Continue please," he said.

"Okay," she said, but then regretted it. She always knew to let the least trustworthy person go first. If not, they were likely to use all your information and reveal next to nothing when their turn came. She sighed.

"Is everything alright?" Lex asked.

"Yes," Lois nodded and continued. She would only give up salient points…not too much.

"There's a suspicious bug that's affecting the geriatric community here. The CDC has picked up on it, but they are withholding information from the press and public at large, indicating that its spread may be criminally connected. Someone—"

"Are you hungry?" Lex interrupted.

"Hungry?" Lois asked. She had been mentally preparing this speech for hours, and this was the reception she got? "Lex, I wasn't done."

"Of course," he replied. "I hate to interrupt, but I'm famished. I thought you might be as well."

The truth was Lois hadn't eaten since noon. She was…famished.

"I take that silence for consent. What would you like?"

The question came as a surprise. "I'm not a picky eater. Peanut butter and jelly most nights."

"Then I couldn't tempt you with duck breast with frisée salad and port vinaigrette?" Before she could answer, a gentleman entered with a cart.

"It's already ready?" Lois asked.

"No, this is our salad," Lex said, motioning for her to go to a table placed on the other side of the room. "I was about to dine before you arrived." He looked to the server. "Please provide a setting for Ms. Lane."

The gentlemen did so, and Lex pulled the chair out for Lois before joining her at the table.

"Escarole salad with braised shallots and prunes," Lex announced, answering the question that was no doubt on Lois's face. "Use the dressing as you like."

He immediately dug in. However, she did not. Eating with Lex felt like a concession. To what, she didn't know. But whenever she was with him, she felt out of control. Things happened quickly, unexpected things, and she always found herself wondering: what in the world is going on? She used to fear that, but at this moment, it was…not as scary.

"Is there something wrong, Ms. Lane?" he asked. She had yet to take a bite. She shook her head and began to eat.

The salad was divine; much better than the iceberg lettuce and tomato travesties she was used to whipping up. Glancing at Lex, she realized that she had never seen him eat before. She'd imagined he had just sucked nutrients from the air around him.

"Does all this luxury ever get old?" she asked all of a sudden, surprising even herself. Lex waited a beat before answering.

"My mother always told me 'Want for everything life has to offer and be determined to get it -- but not at all costs.'"

"So you listened to her?"

"Nah," Lex said with a chuckle. "There's no cost too high to secure the things I want. Not saying there's no truth in the statement. But,--" he paused. "I'm Lex Luthor. I was born to be Lex Luthor. I like my music loud, my liquor strong, my cars fast, and my women faster. The day I accepted that…" he nodded to himself. He dropped off, and Lois almost thought he was through. "That was a turning point." He took a sip from his tonic water, and it was evident that he wished it were something else. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, you can't be anyone other than who you are."

"Your mom tell you that, too?" Lois asked. Lex shook his head.

"That one was from my father."

They continued in silence for some time, when the previous gentleman returned with a cart baring two covered dishes. He served Lois first, then Lex, and removed the lids to reveal the promised duck.

"Enjoy," he said and left.

"I'm glad to be dining with you, Ms. Lane," Lex said, smiling. The statement confused Lois. It sounded so uncharacteristic of Lex--and pleasant--that she suddenly felt that maybe she had misunderstood the point of this entire evening and that this was actually a date.

"On to business," Lex said immediately, as if he had read her mind. "Please resume with your findings."

After a deep breath, Lois recounted what she had found; the CDC, Lachlan Labs, the messages from Anonymous. She was much more forth-coming than she had intended, and Lex looked on with rapt attention as she spoke.

Until he didn't.

"I've heard enough," he said standing. Lois was taken aback. He stood and picked up a remote control, pointing it at the wall. A large screen descended from the ceiling. With another push of a button, the screen read "Why?" "Any ideas, Ms. Lane?" he asked.

"To make money," Lois offered.

"Of course," Lex said. "But how?"

"Maybe they have the cure."

"But they don't," Lex said.

"How do you know that?" Lois asked. Lex didn't respond. He pushed another button on the remote. "Who?" appeared on the screen.

"Who are they?" Lex asked.

The question startled her. She had kept one detail to herself.

"There was someone who worked at Lachlan Labs. A Tom."

Lex snapped around, a look of recognition on his face. "Tom," he said.

"You know him?" Lois asked. Lex stared at her, wordlessly, for a long time.

"It isn't Tom," Lex finally said. He pushed another button, and the screen began rising. He started to speak as if he were speaking at a conference. "What we lack are a suspect and a motive. Therefore, Ms. Lane, we lack a crime." He walked back to his desk and made a phone call. Lois remained at the table, stunned.

Lex cupped the receiver and whispered loudly to Lois. "Ms. Lane, take your time finishing your meal. I can call for more if you'd like. You may leave when you're ready." He resumed his conversation.

Lois was…furious.

"Are you kidding me!" she yelled, marching towards his desk. "What in the world just happened here? You sucked me dry for all that I know, shot down two of my ideas without justifying your positions, only to then dismiss me with a wink and a smile?"

Lex apologized to the person he was speaking to and hung up.

"Mr. Luthor," Lois began again, "I am a consummate professional who has worked with countless persons in fields of all sorts, and I demand the same respect and professional courtesy that I give."

Lex said nothing.

"Ugh," Lois groaned, grabbing her purse and heading for the door.

"Ms. Lane," Lex called. She turned back.

"What?" she said angrily.

"I'm sorry if I've been smug, but the informant is not Tom."

"How can you be so sure?" she said.

"Because Tom is dead."

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for all your motivating feedback.


	25. Reconciliation

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: RECONCILIATION**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers_

* * *

Some of the fiercer ire between Lois and Clark had worn off, but they still found themselves avoiding each other in little ways: using courtesies with each other that they usually reserved for strangers, eating bags of popcorn alone, no more Monday morning reporting. And Lois hadn't seen Clark's face on her caller ID in…a long time.

So she was surprised when he approached her with the morning's paper in his hand. "I read your story Lois. Saw the final draft last night when I was discussing some addendums with Billy." He nodded as he looked at the paper in his hand, no doubt looking at the article. "Congratulations. You deserve this."

Lois didn't say anything immediately; this olive branch from Clark had touched her more than she would have guessed. She almost felt like crying. She knew that it took a lot for him to acknowledge her success…to say anything at all.

"Clark," she said finally. "Are you still mad at me?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm not," he said. He leaned against the edge of her desk. "Are you mad at me?"

Lois shook her head. "I can't be mad at you Clark," she replied. "Love you too much."

Clark held out his hand, and Lois grabbed it. He pulled her up out of her chair, and they shared a hug. They had gotten so used to the ceasefire that they had forgotten what true peace felt like.

"I want us to, I don't know, _do_ something Clark," Lois said. "I've been missing this."

Clark nodded. "I have, too."

"Lunch, maybe, or…no, you have Rebecca."

"Yeah," Clark confirmed. "But, how about tonight? Popcorn and a movie."

"Rebecca won't mind?" Lois asked. Clark shrugged.

"Doubt it," he said.

Lois had a sudden flash. "I have, um, something tonight."

Clark looked curious. "A date?" he asked.

"No," Lois replied firmly. "No, not a date. Um, work really."

Clark was only half-buying it, but he let it go. "Well, you know. We have the rest of our lives. We'll think of something."

"Yeah," Lois said. "No rush." She gave his arm a friendly punch.

"Got a follow-up interview with the Governor. He's only going to be in Metropolis till thee, so," Clark said, grabbing his attaché case, "I gotta get going, but I should be back later today." He opened the door and left.

Lois took a deep sigh after sitting back down. "That felt good," she said to herself and started back to work.

She stared at her monitor with a renewed desire to actually be there. She felt so good, in fact, that she soon decided to tackle something that had been tugging at her for days. Hours passed without her leaving her office, as she continued plugging away, locked on the task at hand. Predictably, however, her drive began to wane.

"Hello, this is Lois Lane, and I was calling to find out what the procedure is for a getting a…um, no I didn't want the Claims Department…sure, I'll hold," Lois said with a sigh. Out of six phone calls, she had been on hold for a total of forty-eight minutes so far, and had taken to writing another article during the waits. Not the best idea, she realized, as sometimes she started typing her thoughts instead.

A voice returned. "Um, yes, I am Lois Lane, and I was calling to find out the procedure for petitioning for a case file to be released under the Freedom of Information Act?...I am not, um, particularly representing _any_ organization…well, I mean I _am_ representing _The Daily Planet_, but…well, she already faxed me that form, but…Lois Lane, my name is Lois Lane…I mean, it's spelled the normal way, but I need to speak with….they already sent me that form…Yes," she sighed, "I'll hold."

Lois was getting frustrated. She imagined that getting the case file on Lachlan Labs would be difficult, but she had spent hours on it and hadn't even gotten past a couple receptionists and, at best, an assistant director.

Then the hold music stopped. "Hello, hello, hello," she said, but she was disconnected.

"Dammit," she said. "Now I have to start over."

Jus then Clark came in the door. He looked down at his watch and back at Lois. It was almost 7:00. "You're still here?"

"Yeah," she said, disgruntled.

"Why, what's going on?" he said.

"Nothing," she said. "Just, gathering info has been a pure chore."

"Isn't it always?" Clark asked supportively. "That's what we are for—to make these people tell the truth."

Lois nodded. "You're right, Clark," she said, motivated. "The truth is our business. We're the truth-tellers. That's what we do."

Clark, looked up. "So what is it you're trying to find?" he asked. Lois hesitated before answering. Since their falling out, Lois had kept the CDC story close to her chest. With developments the way they were, she was even more reluctant to let him back in.

"Um, well, I've been, you know, calling the…Commission on Urban Development. Just need some demographics information and you would think I wanted everyone's salaries."

"Lois," Clark said rising. "I can't believe you didn't come to me earlier."

"Why?"

"I did an interview with the commissioner a year ago and we really hit it off. He told me if I ever needed anything to call. I can probably have you that demo info by the end of the day."

Lois just nodded, feigning enthusiasm. "Thanks, Clark. Thanks a lot."

He walked towards the door. "I'll call Rebecca has his direct line." He pulled out his phone.

"No, it can wait till tomorrow, Clark," Lois said. "Go on home; I'm wrapping up here."

"Alright," Clark said. "I just came back for this," he grabbed what appeared to be a bottle of lotion too girly to be his. "See you tomorrow, Lois," he said and walked back out.

"See you, Clark," she said.

Lois double checked to make sure he was gone. She grabbed the receiver, but it suddenly rang.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Lane we've been informed of your request," came the other voice.

"Excuse me; who am I speaking with?" Lois said.

"This is Marion Dougherty with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Your request was taken into consideration and cannot be honored at this time."

"I don't understand," Lois said. "I haven't even formally filed the request yet and it's being denied? And what's your position?"

"I'm with the FBI; that should be sufficient. Have a good day, Ms. Lane."

"Wait," Lois said, but the woman had already hung up. "What in the word?" Lois asked herself. She picked up a stress ball on her desk, absently twirling it in her palm a couple times before hurling it at the wall.

This was _so_ frustrating. Moments later, her phone rang again.

This time, it was Lex.

"My conduct the previous evening was off-putting."

"Yes," Lois said and hung up. Her phone rung again.

"What Lex?" she said.

"Can I expect your presence tonight?"

"You can expect me to participate in a written information exchange as we discussed and nothing more…I can find ways to humiliate myself without your assistance."

"Humiliate yourself?" Lex seemed honestly bothered. "Ms. Lane, I value your input." Lois said nothing. "Besides, I have received additional information that--" He stopped. There was dead silence on the other end, and Lois began to wonder if he was even still there. She glanced at her phone. They were still connected.

"Lex?" she prodded.

"That answers a lot of questions," he said finally.

"Okay," Lois replied, curious. He hung up.

Lois smelled a lead.

* * *

Constructive criticism? Praise? WTFs? I want to hear it all.


	26. Stupor

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: STUPOR**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers _

* * *

Leaving work late meant that Lois didn't have to go all the way home only to circle back to the ritzy area downtown where Lex lived.

She pulled into the parking garage of Lex's condo around eight. Unlike the first time, some things were familiar; the parking garage valet, the elevator attendant, the carpet inside the elevator, the concierge, the lobby lounge, the statue of Saint Teresa of Ávila. There was the second elevator, with its second attendant, and finally the intercom to request permission to enter the floor; the floor that belonged to Alexander J. Luthor.

Everything was familiar…but Lex.

He opened the door with a scotch in his hand, and he was visibly agitated. She could already see that he was going to have a wet night.

She launched into her spiel, handing him a folder. "I have prepared a basic outline with some documents. You'll find a digital copy of all I've collected inside. It's much more comprehensive than the papers." Lex, however, was already moving to the other side of the room. He paused at his bay window and looked out on a Metropolis that was quickly approaching night.

"It's unsealed," he said vacantly.

Lois's heart leapt inside, and she found herself entering his apartment; he couldn't be referring to what she thought, could he?

"What's unsealed?" she asked.

Lex turned to her. His face was blank. "The FBI report indicated that they closed the lab because of cruelty to animals."

"Cruelty to animals," Lois repeated. "So there was animal testing going on."

Lex shrugged. He looked back out of the window. "That's not why they closed down the lab."

Lois was already getting flashbacks of her last visit and unconsciously took a step back towards the door. One more unsupported denial of obvious fact, and she would cut loose from this whole…this whole whatever they were doing.

"Lex, maybe you can just give me whatever you planned to give me tonight, and we can talk again later."

Lex picked up a large bound…report? He walked over and handed it to Lois. It was turned to page 236.

"What does that say?" he said, pointing to the title. That's when she could smell the alcohol. It was odd, since he was always drinking but never smelled like alcohol.

"Effects of elevated levels of synthetic alanine aminotransferase," Lois read, "on liver function in pre-pubescent children." She stopped.

"Keep reading," he insisted.

"Sherry L. Koepke, PhD; Sharon L. Unverzagt, PhD; Michael Stoddard, PhD; Karlene Wright, PhD—"

"Skip to the section 'Case presentation,'" he said, his voice becoming more urgent.

"Case presentation: Our patient received his first dose of the synthetic renal enzyme. Simultaneously we introduced a renal enzyme inhibitor. Subsequent assays showed that the patient had preformed antibodies for human leukocyte antigen DQ5 against synthetic donor enzyme, rendering enzyme levels very low. Resultant side effects included extreme fatigue and jaundice…" She paused in reading.

"Keep reading," Lex urged.

She sighed. "We gradually reduced dosage of inhibitor. Despite having preformed antibodies against the donor, the patient continues to have excellent allograft function one year after introduction of enzyme inhibitor. The study was conducted between April 1992 and December 1992. One-year follow-up was completed in April 1993."

Lois read with no comprehension. The words were just black ink on paper for all she was concerned. Lex was the biochemist, not her. She knew whatever was contained here was causing his agitation, but he'd have to spell it out. She looked up to tell him so, but when she turned back up to his face, he was…crying.

Not with tears and sniffles—his eyes were dry, his face motionless. But she recognized the look of someone imploding from agony. Whatever was haunting him was spilling out through his eyes.

"Are you okay, Lex?" she asked.

"Did you understand what you just read, Ms. Lane?" he asked, almost pleading for a "yes" to his question.

She shook her head no.

"I was caught in the meteor showers of 1989. I was nine years old—a child—and had gone on a business trip with Lionel to Smallville."

Lois had already known—Chloe had told her more about that day than she'd ever cared to know.

"Something happened to me that day," he said. Then he paused, like he expected Lois to guess.

"You lost your hair," she said. She'd said it too crassly, she thought, and tried to smooth it over. "That must have been hard for you."

Lex took her arm, tugging her to sit on the couch; she half-heartedly complied, while he took a seat beside her. It was an intimate move that felt completely out of character for him, like they were girlfriends sharing a haunting secret. He leaned in close to her as he talked, too close. The alcohol was strong. It was seeping from his pores.

"When I went to Smallville that day, I had asthma. When I left, I never had another attack again."

"So you were…_cured_?" Lois asked, trying to follow his logic.

"Lois, "--and the familiarity surprised her--"I don't get sick."

Lois didn't know what to make of it, and Lex's altered personality was confusing her further.

"What do you mean that you don't get sick?"

"No flu, no colds, no strep...I haven't been sick since 1989."

Lois was reeling. Surely he had been sick; she remembers him being in the hospital once. Hadn't she reported on it? She held her forehead. "What does this all mean?"

He turned away, and she could see him retreating into himself.

"Beginning in the summer of 1992," he answered. There was urgency in his voice, "Every Friday a white van would pick me up from day camp and take me to Lachlan Labs. Every Friday I'd be given tests. They started out as simple examinations—for my eyes, tonsils, blood pressure—and after the doctors were done, they'd reward me with a video game or pair of sneakers. But when I came home from boarding school for the spring intercession the following year," Lex's breathing got heavier and his eyes started darting around, "the tests got more…intense." He suddenly stood up and took a couple paces forward. "There were, uh, all sorts of tests. Some were very uncomfortable. Very painful. Very…_invasive_."

Lois could only imagine what they had done. "Why?" she asked, disturbed.

Lex snapped around and walked back to Lois, stooping in front of her and leaning his hands on her knees. He was angrier now…and slurring a little. "They wanted to find out how my immune system worked and why I never got sick. I would overhear them talking. They didn't know I knew." He stared at Lois, shedding the cool, dominating demeanor he'd perfected and reverted to a frightened child before her eyes. "I'd scream Lois. I'd beg them to let me go, to let me out. They'd just watch me through the glass, taking notes. I'd threaten to tell my parents."

"Why didn't you?" Lois asked, pained.

"Because they said they would kill them, and kill the baby, and then kill me." Lois remembered Chloe mentioning a baby. There were layers to this story and each revelation produced more questions than answers.

"When you went home, I mean, I don't understand, your mother—she didn't say anything? She didn't notice?"

"She was pregnant and very ill. I didn't want to worry her. And my father…he was always away, travelling, working." A smirk crossed his lips. "One day, though, I got up the courage to tell him."

"What did he do?"

"He was furious. He started smashing things. He left and took me with him. I watched as he went inside the lab and when he came back out, he promised me that they would never hurt me again. He promised me he would have them all killed. Especially…" he trailed off.

"Especially who?" Lois said shocked.

Lex looked down and then turned back to her with a look of pure loathing, and when he blinked a tear ran down his face. "My father killed Tom."

Lois gasped.

"I never saw Tom or went back to the lab again."

The horror of the tale rendered Lois quiet. She didn't know what to say. She shook her head as she finally spoke.

"Lex, I only wish your father had known sooner. You could have avoided so much…pain."

Lex responded with one chuckle and then two. He laughed a few more times, before attempting to eloquently walk back to his desk. He picked up a paper and looked at it.

"Read this," he demanded, handing her the paper.

"Request to perform human testing—"

"No," he yelled. "Look at the signature."

It read clearly: Lionel Luthor.

"Don't you see Lois? He knew all along. Lionel authorized the tests." He shook his head. "All these years I thought Lionel had been my savior. My big brave dad. He saved me from the evil people at the lab." Lex sunk down to the floor in front of her. He gritted his teeth, "But Lionel was a co-conspirator with my tormentors. He was my ultimate foe…even back then."

The thought was too demented for Lois to bear.

"He wanted to know how I work so he could make money. But he failed. He failed, Lois, because he was a failure." He shook his head. "I'm not a failure. Alexander Luthor is no failure."

He then took a death-defying swig off of his scotch, polishing off the glass.

A thought occurred to Lois. "How can you be sure he's dead?"

Lex laughed. "One of Lionel's cronies got mad and turned the lab in for cruelty to animals. Lachlan Labs was shut down within the week. Tons of people got deported, jailed, or…" he held up two hands like he was performing a magic trick, "…disappeared." He unceremoniously wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Tom, fortunately, fell in the latter category." He stood, with some difficulty, and took a couple paces. "I know my father; Tom knew too much. Lionel _had_ to kill him…it had nothing to do with me."

Lois regarded the self-medicating, tormented, broken man before her with something she had never felt for Lex Luthor.

Pity.

She stood and hesitantly went to…hug him? She had no clue what she would do, really, but before she reached him, in a burst, he bolted for the other end of the room.

"Let's play a game," Lex said. He walked over to his bar and pulled down a tall slender bottle with a black band around the top. Lois didn't recognize it.

"It's vodka," Lex explained, "Stolichnaya Elit, imported from Russia. Exquisite." He then pulled down a shot glass. And four more.

"Lex, I'm not taking shots with you," Lois said.

"I didn't think you would," he said filling the first. "This is my version of solitaire." He then subsequently filled all five.

"Lex, you're already drunk."

Lex shook his head. "Far from it milady; for me, this is a glass of wine with dinner. This," he said, motioning around the bar, "is my only vice left." _I can think of a couple others_, Lois thought. He meticulously spaced the glasses before him, counting them again. Then he ceremoniously placed the bottle next to the shots. "Okay, I ask a question and you answer."

Lois shook her head…to no avail.

"Why did my father torture me?"

Lois wanted to be empowering. "Lex, your father is dead and rotting in hell. You are a free man, not a helpless child. You don't have to live in his shadow anymore. You can free yourself from all that he put you through."

Lex bobbed his head from side to side. "Not the answer I was looking for, but," and he took a shot. "Why did my mother leave me…no, no, got a better one. Why didn't my mother protect me?"

"I don't know your mother."

"She's dead."

"Well, I _didn't_ know your mother, but she probably was oppressed." It was the best answer she could muster.

"Bo-ring," Lex blurted, and took a shot. "Oooh, I got a good one. 4. 8. 15. 16. 23. 42."

Lois sighed. "What are you talking about, Lex?"

"Did anyone ever figure out what those numbers on _Lost_ meant?" He paused. Lois said nothing. He shrugged and took a shot.

"Lex, I need to go," Lois said, not actually leaving, but preparing him for her imminent exit.

"Where's Superman?" he asked abruptly.

The question startled her.

"You don't know Ms. Lane?" Lex asked.

They looked at each other for moment. Lex grabbed a shot and slowly worked it down.

Lois might have been more alarmed—Lex's animosity for Kal was well established—but she too was in a stupor, not from alcohol, but just from…

Abandonment.

Without a word. Without a note. Without a trace. Superman had come one day. And then he was gone.

"Will I always be lonely?" Lex asked. The words matched her thoughts word for word. Lois stood and met Lex at the table. She lifted the final glass.

Down it went, bitter but smooth. Exquisite indeed.

She sat down on a bar stool.

"I'm sorry, Lois," Lex said, sitting next to her. "I'm a sad drunk."

Lois turned to the wretch next to her, completely gutted. She rose to leave. Lex didn't protest.

"Lois," he called when she reached the door. "You will be rewarded for your loyalty. I reward loyalty."

Lois said nothing and left.


	27. Reports

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: REPORTS**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headings_

* * *

Late spring and still the weather would not warm up. The brisk wind and tall buildings turned downtown Metropolis into a virtual wind tunnel. As her hair became increasingly more unruly, Lois prayed that Perry would show up soon.

Her prayers were answered.

"Good afternoon Lois," he said, briskly walking past her. Lois followed down behind him into the Cobalt Café. This was not a café for beatniks and poets. It was more for men who did things like jump out of burning buildings and run towards gunshots for a living; men who didn't take sugar in their coffee.

Perry took a seat at the counter, and Lois joined him.

"What you having Perry?" the women behind the counter asked.

"One cup of mud," he said.

"And for the lady?" she asked, directing the question to Perry.

"I'll have a menu," Lois interrupted. _Where am I?_ she thought. _The 1950s?_

"We're not staying, Lois," Perry said firmly.

She sighed. "Then what do you have?" she asked.

"She'll have a coffee with a lot of sugar and cream," Perry responded.

The woman snickered and walked off.

"Really, Perry?" Lois said. "Gosh."

"Lois," he began. He ignored her irritation completely. "I wanted to meet you here because, well…I need answers." That was Perry's way of saying that he wanted to back out of your story.

"Answers?" Lois repeated.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I'm hearing things."

"What kinds of things?" Lois asked.

"Have you read what the other guys are printing?" He handed her his phone loaded with three different newspaper articles. Lois glanced at them.

"What are they saying?"

"That this bug thing is a LuthorCorp job."

"Yeah, and?" Lois replied.

"They are saying that pollution from the plant is causing this breakout. The elderly, the very sick, people with compromised immune systems—they are the canaries in the coal mine."

"Delicately put, Perry," Lois quipped.

"Regardless, it's established fact that LuthorCorp has bought its way into putting off dealing with some environmental issues. It looks like its time may be up."

"This bug is looking like a microbe, not a poisoning. It's spreading. The symptoms are systemic. I've covered poisonings--this isn't a poisoning."

"So you know something the CDC doesn't?"

"No, I know what the CDC isn't saying—that if this were a hazmat issue, the procedures would be completely different. Perry, I've done my homework."

"And I know that, Lois, but viruses _can_ spread through water. I mean, I don't know all the details, but LuthorCorp is just the obvious answer."

"How is it the obvious answer, when these papers didn't have the slightest clue anything was even going on until we released our article and then the CDC 'leaked',"--air quotes--"the details that they wanted the public to know? The obvious answer is usually the wrong answer."

"Yeah, Lois, but the first thing the investigative reporter learns is that when you hear hoof beats, don't think zebras."

"I'm not thinking zebras, Perry," Lois said. "I'm listening to the jockey."

"Fair enough," Perry said, "but I'm going to need a list of your sources."

"Of course," Lois said. And by "Of course" she meant "What in the world?" Sure she had a list, she always did. But years ago Perry had just started _trusting_ that all her references checked out. He hadn't personally verified what she wrote in ages. Of all stories, why was he going by the book now?

"That won't be a problem, will it?" he added. Their coffee arrived. Well, his coffee and her glorified Nesquik.

"Of course it won't," Lois shrugged.

"Good," he responded. He placed a ten on the counter and rose to leave. He began to walk off but then paused, "Lois, I'm on _your_ team."

Lois nodded. "I know." Then he left.

But she lingered. She had more thinking to do. The question still remained: If LuthorCorp wasn't behind this thing, who was? Just a couple days ago she'd been convinced Tom was, but who could know for sure? Maybe Lex was right and he was dead. If he was, who was Anonymous? And could Lex really be behind this? While she was far from trusting of him, the last several days had proven that there was more to that man than moustache twirling and maniacal laughter.

Sure, she was all balls when she was talking to Perry, but to tell the truth…Lois was losing confidence.

-----

Clark was gaining confidence.

Things were…good. Job was good. Mom was healthy. And then Rebecca…

"Blue and green?" she guessed with doubt. Clark was lying down on the couch with his head on the armrest while Rebecca sat perched on his knees, facing him.

"Nooo," Clark said. "Try again." He was holding a book close to his chest, peeking at it without revealing too much.

She bit her bottom lip. "Red and gold?"

"No, but you're a lot closer," Clark encouraged her.

"Blue and gold?"

"Ding, ding, ding!" Clark said. Rebecca clapped her hands.

"Okay, now your turn," Clark said. She took the book from his hands.

"Okay, in which years did the Monarchs win the World Series? I'll give you a clue—"

"1968, 1973, and 1988," Clark said without hesitation.

"Good God, Clark--I'm impressed." She handed him the book. "How do you know this stuff?"

"Because they've been my favorite team since…since I can remember," Clark explained. He turned the page. "Okay, this is an easier one."

"That's what you said the last time," Rebecca said.

"Okay. What is the home stadium of the Monarchs?"

"Oh, oh, oh, I know this," Rebecca chirped. "Bakerline Metrodome."

"Right!" Clark cried. Rebecca pumped her fists in the air.

"This is fun!" Rebecca said cheerfully.

"It is?" Clark said. "You're not bored?"

"Of course not. I like learning about you, Clark Kent, and seeing you excited about something that you've loved since you were a kid."

The statement touched Clark. They shared smiles. He suddenly had a thought and sat up on his elbows.

"This is totally hokey, but, I won this radio contest to go to a Monarchs game in May."

"You did?" Rebecca said excitedly.

"Yeah," Clark said. "Second year in a row I've won."

Rebecca looked amused. "How is that possible?"

"A little luck and automatic redial." They both started laughing. "I won _two_ tickets, actually, and I was really hoping I could find someone to go with me." Last year he'd gone with Lois, and she'd spent the entire time declaring the virtues of the Metropolis Meteors and booing at inappropriate times.

"Are you asking me to go with you, Clark?" Rebecca said.

Clark nodded.

She leaned forward, all the way down, stopping a breath away from Clark's lips. He closed the gap, gently at first, before the two fell into a hungry kiss.

Breaking off, Rebecca leaned into his ear. "Yes, I will go with you Clark," she whispered.

Mixed in with her whisper, however, was the faint sound of screaming. The more Clark focused the louder it got.

"What is it, Clark?" Rebecca asked.

"Oh, um," Clark stuttered, swallowing hard. "Nothing, nothing at all. I'm so glad you're going with me." The shouting got louder, and he could hear snips of phrases.

"Get away…help…Don't hurt me."

"Do you…_hear_ anything, Rebecca?" he asked.

She sat up, looking around her and turned her head to listen more closely.

"Yeah, I do," she said nodding.

"So, it's just normal," Clark said. "And not, like, sub-phonic?"

"Huh?" Rebecca was confused.

"Nothing. But you hear something?" Clark said.

"Yeah," she sighed. "I have to apologize. I have these, um, like, fake jungle sounds playing in the bathroom. It helps me relax when I'm taking a bath. But there are a couple monkey tracks that are just weird."

"Oh," Clark said, feigning relief. "That's what I must be hearing."

But he knew different. This was a new habit of his: ignoring. Ignoring screaming, and pleas for safety, and signs of distress. Ignoring sirens and bells and whistles and alarms. He didn't want to hear it. Not here, not in Metropolis, not now. And definitely not when he was with Rebecca. Those were sounds for Superman. But right now, Clark just wanted to be…

Clark.

On icky days that were lonely and grim, ignoring was easy. But on the days he felt optimistic and lucky …it was a lot harder.

"Clark," Rebecca called to him, and he realized that she was on the other side of the room. He could see her mouth moving, but he couldn't hear what she was saying. Her voice was drowned out by the other voice, the voice of the woman yelling. And then…there was another, a fainter scream, and as it got louder another cry joined it…and maybe the sound of barking, or no a siren. Clark tried to block it out, tried to focus on Rebecca's lips, but soon there was a chorus, resonating in his head, of sobbing and crying and shrieking and turmoil. He clutched his head and closed his eyes. He willed himself to get mastery over his head, to block it all out and to be here and _not there_.

"Clark," he heard again, and the noise stopped. He turned to where Rebecca had been standing, only to realize that she was sitting right next to him.

"Huh?" he said.

"Did you even hear a word I said?" she asked. She looked mad.

Clark sighed. "Um, no. Forgive me, what were you saying?"

"Tell me the truth," she said and paused, and Clark cringed. This was the moment he had been dreading. "Do you have a headache?" she asked.

And then it dawned on him: she wasn't mad, she was concerned. Clark nodded yes.

Rebecca sighed, shaking her head, and walked towards the kitchen. "Clark, you think because you're a big strong man that you don't have to take care of yourself. Working long hours, skipping meals, hitting the gym late at night—it catches up with you." She brought back two aspirin, two vitamins, and a cup of water. "Take these." She placed the small pills in Clark's oversized hand. "They should make you feel better. The beige ones are lady vitamins, but hey, it's not like you're a different species—they should still get the job done." He nodded and took the pills.

"Thank you, Rebecca," he said.

"Don't thank me," she said. "Now lie back." She pushed against his chest with her small hands, and Clark lay back on the couch. He lifted his feet while he did, resting them on her lap. She pulled his socks off and began to massage his feet. "Now promise me you won't go anywhere until that headache is gone."

Clark looked into her beautiful eyes and a feeling of serenity washed over him. "I'm not going anywhere," he said. "I promise."

-----

**DAYS LATER**

Setting was everything. Over the years, Lois had learned that if you wanted to understand the crime, you had to _be_ the crime.

Or, at least be _near_ the crime.

Which is why on a Wednesday evening, when she should have been watching a cop-drama with her dad over the phone and cracking open a bottle of wine, she was parked in an abandoned industrial park in the Brandon area of Metropolis. She had to find Tom…_tonight_. It almost felt as if her life depended on it.

She looked around hoping that something would catch her attention, call to her, inspire her, or give her some indication of who Tom was, what he did all those years ago and--more importantly--where he was _now_. She was sitting in deep thought when there was a knock on the window. She jumped with a start.

A delivery man was standing outside the window, motioning for her to roll it down.

"I have a package that is supposed to be delivered…," he took a soaring look around, "here."

"Here?" Lois said. "Where's _here_?"

"Well, the address on the package says 1256 Parlour Trace." He looked around again. "Yep that's here. That's what it says on the GPS."

"You found this on the GPS?" Lois asked. The delivery man nodded. "I can't believe it," she mumbled to herself. Suddenly, Lois had an idea. "Of course you did. Because I'm waiting for a package. Probably the same package that you have right there in your hands. Yep, um, where is it coming from?"

He glanced down. "Mangler Supply Company."

Lois recognized the company from an old story she'd worked on. Mangler was a laboratory chemical supplier and distributor.

"Yep, that's the package. So where do I sign?"

"Oh, um, what's your name?"

"Oh," Lois said, with a chuckle. "My name? My name is, um, my name is Karen Goldman. That's my name."

The man grimaced. "Sorry ma'am; can't let you sign for it. You're not approved."

"Not approved?" Lois figured she take a stab at indignation. "Not approved! Well, how can I not be approved? I'll have you know that I was sent here directly from the company to sign for this package. I don't have the time for these games."

"Then you probably know…why was it sent to _this_ address? That's so weird."

Lois stammered, "Oh, um, we changed location some time ago, and some vendors didn't get the memo." She mentally patted herself on the back for that whopper.

"Oh," the delivery guy said.

"So can I sign now?" she asked again.

"No can do. I'll get fired if I let you have this package. It's hazmat, so I'll just have to take it back to the drop-off location and call to have it picked-up from there."

"Oh," Lois said, "of course. So, um, to keep this from happening again, who _is_ authorized to sign for it?"

The deliveryman stared down. "Douglas Druitt."

"Thanks," Lois said, a little too enthusiastically. She rolled up the window and drove off.

A combination of her cell phone and trusty GPS brought her here: to the Turion Building. Turns out Douglas Druitt was the CEO of a regional textile distributor whose Metropolis office was located on the fifth floor. For all practical purposes they should be closed by now, but it was common knowledge that the Turion Building was often teeming with activity long after official office hours. Even so, the last rays of sunlight were exiting stage west over the horizon, and Lois knew that gaining entry into the building so late would be a challenge. She had an idea.

She walked up to the doorman.

"Good evening. What is your business, ma'am?"

"Hello, I want to go to KMG's Wholesale Textile supplier."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the doorman replied. "Business hours ended at six. As it is already 7:56, you'll have to return when they open again at 9:00 AM tomorrow."

"Well, I'm here to pick up my husband. I was out in the car calling him when I heard ringing in the backseat. The chump forgot his phone."

"That is fine, ma'am. May I have his extension?"

"His extension," Lois stalled. "Hold on one moment, it's somewhere in my purse." She began to fumble through said purse, rummaging for a slip of paper that was most assuredly _not_ there. Lois wondered how long she would have to keep up the charade before he would let her in. Just then, another guard walked up.

"John, come take a look at this," he said.

The first guard, who was holding open the door, looked at Lois, then the guard, and back at Lois. He took a hard sigh.

"Come on in," he said. The two guards walked off together. Lois silently celebrated her victory while making her way to the elevators where there was another guard. Long ago she had learned that a friendly face and a determined walk could get her past such perfunctory security.

And it did. Boarding the second elevator, she headed for the fifth floor. Finding the floor desk abandoned, she made her way to KMG's Textile.

She greeted the woman who was sitting at the front desk. "Is Mr. Druitt available?" she asked.

The woman looked at Lois as if she had a second head. "Mr. Druitt? You _are_ aware we are closed, right?

"Yes, of course, I just…" _Just what? _Lois asked herself._ Wanted to ask him if he could go and get the hazmat package so she could see what was inside?_ "I just had something I wanted to ask him."

"Yeah, well, it'll have to wait until tomorrow," the woman said.

Of course it did. Lois barely had a plan, and she, of all people, knew that those who failed to plan planned to fail.

And that's when she spotted it—a portrait on the wall.

"Who is that?" Lois asked the woman at the desk. The woman glanced up from a magazine.

"Don't you know?" she replied. "It's Mr. Druitt."

Lois couldn't believe her eyes. There was no mistaking it—Douglas Druitt…was Tom Dresnell. Sure, he was stouter and a little grayer, but the eyes were the same. But there was only one way to know for sure.

"That's a great portrait of him," Lois said, briskly walking to the elevator. On the ride down she came up with a plan and pulled out her phone. "Hey, Clark, this is Lois."


	28. Flee

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: FLEE  
**_See Chapter 1 for story headers._

**Notes:** To all my readers, thank you for your patience during my two-month hiatus. But I promise you that it will be worth it. I have expanded and re-written many chapters to come, and I promise you that you are in for the ride of your life. Also, much love to my beta Katy…as always.

* * *

Rebecca had brought Clark to Rajput's, her favorite Indian restaurant. Clark was in the throes of one of his favorite Lois stories.

"We look around and the cart isn't even there. I look confused, but Lois doesn't. She marches right up to the counter and holds out her press badge. The man doesn't have a clue and waves us right in. We didn't eat shrimp for like a year after that," Clark related. He laughed heartily just thinking back on it.

Rebecca just nodded. "How is the _hara bhara kabab_?" she asked. "I see you inhaled the bread."

"It's tasty," Clark said. His phone started vibrating, seizing as it jumped around the table; he glanced down at it. "I used to get it all the time at this place Lois used to drag me to. It was the only thing I recognized on the menu here."

"Ah," Rebecca replied.

"Excuse me," Clark said and answered the phone. "Hey Lois…Sure, anything…Um, I mean, if you _want_ to you can…I'll give you the money back…Okay….Okay…See you tomorrow…"

"Tell her I said hi," Rebecca said.

"Rebecca said—" Clark looked at the phone. "She hung up."

Rebecca had some questions. "So, from what I can tell, she asked _you_ for a favor, but somehow you have to give _her_ money back. Now how does _that_ work?"

"Funny story," Clark began. He took a bite of his food. A big one. "She asked if she could pick up my dry-cleaning."

"_Your_ dry cleaning? What does she want with your dry cleaning?"

"I know—crazy, right?" Clark said laughing. "She said she needed some men's shirts for some story. I don't know; she was talking so fast. She's hilarious."

But Rebecca wasn't so amused. "So, you and Lois really are back talking."

Clark feigned confusion. "We never stopped talking."

Rebecca could sense his defensiveness. "No, I don't mean anything. It's just...she comes up more...lately."

"Yeah," Clark began, nervously shoving more food in his mouth. "I mean, you know, we had a talk."

"A talk?" Rebecca repeated.

"Yeah," Clark said, shrugging it off. "Just, you know, establishing some boundaries. Kind of finding our rhythm again."

Rebecca waited a beat before commenting. "It was me, wasn't it? I made your relationship awkward."

"No," Clark insisted. "No, this…you have _nothing_ to do with the relationship between me and Lois. It was nothing, really, just a misunderstanding. That happens sometimes, you know, among friends. It was nothing."

Rebecca had a thought. "Just how long _have_ you and Lois been friends?" she asked.

"Well, I guess we met back in high school," he replied. Rebecca's face registered shock. Clark noticed. "But we weren't really friends. I barely knew her. She was my friend's cousin, and she would come during the summer. We only became friends when I started working for _The Planet_."

Rebecca motioned for the waiter.

"Just friends," Clark said absently, and the waiter walked up.

"The _kaali daal_ is excellent, but I was wondering if we could have more _naan_," Rebecca said. The waiter nodded and left.

"Why'd you ask?" Clark asked. "About me and Lois?"

"Just curious," she answered. Clark looked a little unsettled; he poked at his lamb.

"So," Rebecca began.

"So," Clark echoed. He thought the conversation might get back on track. And it did somehow. Rebecca told him a story about the dog that her next door neighbor was hiding, a water spaniel that was about twenty pounds over what her apartment permitted. Her neighbors made hiding him a fine art. They shared a good laugh over some of the more outrageous schemes.

"So what are we doing this weekend?" Rebecca asked. "There's a Greek festival going on in Bakerline. I heard that the Hellenic Dance Troupe will be there."

"Not _the_ Hellenic Dance Troupe," Clark said with mock enthusiasm. Rebecca threw a piece of rice at him; they both laughed.

"Well, how's this? They'll have lamb and baklava," she replied.

"Now we're talking," Clark said. "When is it?"

"All this weekend, but I really wanted to go Sunday afternoon."

"Sounds good," he replied nodding. Then came the screaming. It was faint at first, but it was growing louder.

"What?" Rebecca asked.

"What what?" Clark parroted in reply.

"Just now; you were somewhere else," she said. "You can't go, can you?"

"No, absolutely, I can go. I'm going."

"If you have something else to do, I understand."

"No, I can go, I will go. See you Sunday."

"Great," she said. She leaned forward and puckered for a kiss. Several seconds passed before Clark kissed her back—it was little more than a peck. Rebecca sat back some, clearly bothered.

The sound came louder this time. Distinct screaming. It sounded close, even familiar.

The waiter arrived with the _naam_.

"Thank you," she said. "So, Clark."

"Yeah," he snapped, as if he were waking from sleep.

"You were telling me earlier about the time you went skiing in college. Now, explain to me again why the skis were _inside_ the car?"

But Clark was distracted, busily denying what he didn't want to believe was true: the screams belonged to Lois Lane.

"Can you excuse me?" he said rising. Rebecca looked perplexed.

"Is something wrong?"

He gestured vaguely with his phone. "I got a text from my mom. I think it's something…private."

"Private?" Rebecca repeated as she watched Clark rush for the door.

Once outside, he called Lois. One ring, then two, then three. There was no answer.

"Dammit," he said. He waited a couple seconds and tried again. One ring, a second, third, and a fourth.

"Hello. You have reached the voicemail of Lois Lane. Please leave your name, number and favorite adverb after the beep."

He walked back in. "Rebecca," he began, "there's a guy out there who needs his car jumped. I'm going to help him and be right back."

"Oh, wow," she said, rising to leave. "I'll go with you."

"No!" he said, louder than he meant. A woman at the next table looked over.

"Why…not?" Rebecca questioned.

"Because he looks like he's drunk, and I don't want you out there with that guy."

"You're jumping the car of someone that's _drunk_?" Rebecca asked.

"Oh, no," Clark said, backtracking. "He's not _really_ drunk; he just _looks_ _like_ he's drunk. He's a creep really. He cat-called a couple of women who were walking by. I just want to get him running and out of here." He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. "I will be right back. Hold tight."

With that, he rushed out of the restaurant.

-----

Lois had picked up Clark's shirts and quickly made her way back to the building. She had already blown her first chance to get in the building and so waited for a miracle for a second entry—maybe she would actually cross paths with Druitt himself. She mentally prepped herself for a wait, but after a mere five minutes, she began to grow impatient. She walked around the building looking for an alternative entryway. A building of this size never had just one, and employees, especially suspect ones, would probably use one of the rear exits. There was no clear path around the building, and Lois found herself winding through shrubbery, partially-paved paths, and other terrain inhospitable to a girl in heels and hose. After all these years, she was still putting fashion first instead of practicality.

And honestly, that probably wouldn't change.

She started feeling raindrops. They were light still, but this time of year showers were known to start out light only to burst into deluges in minutes. A tornado wasn't entirely out of the question. She was racing against the clock.

She tried a few utility doors towards the rear to find that they were all locked—until she spotted an open door. Of course it was fronted by a locked storm door, but surely that was penetrable. She toyed with the idea of just slicing through the netting, but regaining her senses and catching a glimpse of the security camera, she began to make a show of searching through her keys, trying several, so as to look normal if anyone was watching her. Like a sign from the heavens, she saw a bobby pin lying on the ground. She immediately set to picking the lock. She was suddenly startled when the corner light that had been illuminating her work suddenly went dark. She turned to find a man standing behind her. He was wearing a white collared shirt--partially unbuttoned and rolled up at the sleeves—and tuxedo pants. In the faint light from a distant parking lot street lamp, she could see his badge read "Sidney". He didn't look like security, but these high-scale buildings had _tiers_ of security designed to look like anything but. She could have been staring at anybody. She, for one, sought to keep the conversation short and forgettable.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" he asked.

"Yeah, um, just, I work for the cleaners. I just wanted to change into these alterations…um, I wanted to leave these alterations that needed to be altered...fitted." _Smooth, Lois_, she chastised herself.

"Back here?" Sidney asked, taking a sweeping look around.

"Of course not, I just, um, I got a little turned around while I was parking and thought I could just slip into one of these side doors…save myself a walk." She laughed.

"The building is closed ma'am," the man said with no smile. "Here allow me to take the shirts. Who would you like them delivered to?"

"No, we have a strict policy at the cleaners—hand to hand delivery. And you know what? I'll just be going. I can do this tomorrow." The man nodded in a way that seemed to accuse her.

"Fine, ma'am," he said. "I'll walk you to your car."

"Oh, that is quite alright," Lois said, brushing past the man and walking off. He blocked her path.

"I insist," he said, and triggered the automatic open on his umbrella. He then held it deftly over her head. "Sugar, spice and everything nice," he added, punctuating the quip with a smile that looked like a sneer. He surveyed his surroundings over his shoulder. The lot was achingly empty, save for exactly _one_ tractor trailer and golf cart. "So, um, where's your vehicle?"

Lois responded with a extended pause that even she knew was the wrong answer, but one more lie would be one lie too many.

She brushed passed him to leave and felt something in her back. It was cold, blunt and hard and there was no doubt in her mind what it was.

"Don't move and don't scream," he said. There was no mistaking the sternness in his voice and Lois complied. "Now, you had a chance to leave, and you chose to return. So now it's our turn to ask questions."

"Who are you?" Lois asked.

"Funny," Sidney said. "I was just about to ask you the same thing." Lois didn't answer. "I strongly advise you tell me the truth."

She wasn't sure if honesty was the wise choice, but then, he hadn't given her much choice at all. "Lois Lane," she answered.

"Lois Lane," the man repeated. She didn't know what to make of that, but he said with something less than recognition, and she wasn't sure if maybe this was news to him.

"Let me go, and I swear to you that I will pretend this never happened," Lois offered.

"Or," the man countered, "you can do as I say."

Lois closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He pushed her forward with the gun. As they walked further, he drew closer, using their proximity to conceal his weapon. A stray lady walked by.

"S'bout to pour!" she called. "You should probably call it a night, Sid."

'Sid' laughed and nodded. "We're on our way home now."

"Where are we going?" Lois whispered. He didn't answer. When he reached a door, he went to fumble with a key and umbrella, apparently confident that mere possession of a gun would restrain Lois. She spun around, elbows outstretched at her sides, and crashed into his chest as she did. Caught off guard, the gun fell to the ground, skidding several feet away. The two dived for the weapon, and Lois narrowly beat him to it. She scrambled to her feet, but Sidney grabbed her by her hair, twirling it around his hand and spun her around. She stamped on his foot with the heel of her shoe while butting him with her shoulder, and he lost his footing, sending them both into the ground. She screamed as she went down and the impact onto the choppy asphalt knocked the wind from her lungs. She got on all fours to regain her composure, propping herself on the firearm. As she made her way up, he grabbed her heel, pulling her down on top of him. She used the gun to jab him in the groin and rolled her body away. Still on the ground, he grabbed the wrist not holding the gun and dragged her across the jagged blacktop, reaching for the firearm held in her other, outstretched hand. Lois threw the gun as far as she could away from their twisted cluster and rolled on top of him, dropping her now-free arm on her assailant's face, forcing him to release her completely. His nose began bleeding fiercely

The downpour that Lois had anticipated chose that moment to make its appearance and, as she scrambled to her feet, she was blinded by wet tendrils falling in her face. She made a final grab for the gun and felt her assailant's hand just miss grasping her ankle as she took off. She discarded her shoes as she ran with all her might. She was running to her car (maybe?) but she had to get away. Each step, hard and wet under her feet, felt more like her liberation. She cleared probably sixty, sixty-five feet and dreamed of freedom before she felt the force of a Mack truck crash into the back of her skull. She fell to the wet ground before everything went black.

-----

Briskly walking down the street, Clark quickly decided that he wasn't going to go the Superman route. Superman sightings attracted the press and other time-consuming disruptions. He was just going to check out the scene—discreetly—find out what was going on, and then bolt. He should be back within ten minutes without breaking a sweat.

A few seconds later he was standing outside the Turion Building. He listened, but the screaming had gone dead. He circled the building in flight at superspeed, scanning each floor for something suspicious. Nothing caught his attention. And then, the scream returned.

It was coming from the east wing of the building. He hovered where he thought she might be, hiding behind whatever cover the buildings appendages provided. Through the walls, he spotted her—Lois. The sight of her captive infuriated him and he almost crashed through the wall and snatched her right then, but he knew it was a foolhardy plan. So he watched…and waited.

-----

Really, there was no mistaking it: there was a young girl, not seven, walking past her. She advanced slowly, gracefully even, until a ledge appeared between them, and it morphed into a waterfall before cascading into a plush field of bluebells. Lois looked up but the girl was gone. The bluebells started singing and Lois bent down to smell one, but the flower recoiled and then barked at her. They all started barking, and she became so frightened she began to run, and run, and run. Her steps became hot under her feet before it all turned to fire. She covered her eyes and cried out from fear and pain when, just like that, it all stopped. Opening her eyes, she looked around to discover she was standing—no sitting, on the floor—in a bustling room, bustling with people. But they had no faces. No one except…her mother was there. She was dressed in a stunning, black party dress. A cigarette dangled between her fingers. Lois called to her mother, but she couldn't hear her, and when Lois went to stand she couldn't move. She screamed for help but no one turned around. They all kept talking and laughing. Something black, like oil, started pooling around her. Then she felt someone kick her in the back and say:

"I think she's dead."

"Shut up, you moron," came another voice. "She's clearly breathing. If I wanted a diagnosis I would have called a doctor."

"Maybe you should have," the first voice mumbled.

"No bleeding, no doctor," said the second voice, and with that Lois opened her eyes. She saw four menacing eyes above her and let out a scream that wilted rapidly as pain surged through her body. "See? I told you she wasn't dead."

Lois poised her lips to ask where she was, but the action sent a sharp pain through her chest. She felt four hands grab her body and lift her to her feet. She whimpered from the pain as they carelessly put her in a chair. The room was dark, but the shallow light was enough to make her squint. Everything around her was amplified and clouded in a threatening aura, as if she were hallucinating. She really hoped she was.

"Glad you woke from your nap," a man across from her said. It was several seconds before she recognized him as Sidney. "Looks like you made out better than I did." He was holding a bloody rag to his face, and his voice had taken on a nasally tone. "I'll thank you for breaking my nose." Naturally, Lois did not answer. He pulled the rag and gently poked at the crooked appendage. "You fight like a damn ninja."

"Took a self-defense class once," Lois replied, grimacing. Her teeth hurt.

"Enough small talk," said a burly man in all black after a moment. He took a step towards Lois. "What were you doing snooping around the building?"

"I am here to deliver Mr. Druitt's shirts for a fitting. Nothing else," Lois pleaded, with great effort.

"So you want me to believe that a dry cleaning delivery woman would resort to trespassing to get her job done?"

"I take my work seriously," Lois insisted. "I wanted him to try on the shirts. That's all. Now _please_…let me go."

The man looked at Lois a long while.

"Who do you think we are?" he asked after a while.

"Security guards?" Lois answered, feigning uncertainty.

"We aren't thugs, Ms. Lane. We are scientists. You know that and we know that you know that. We also know that you were sent here tonight. And not by _The Daily Planet_."

"I wasn't sent here by anyone," Lois said. "I'm just too damn nosy for my own good. But I don't know anything," she insisted. Her voice grew weaker. "You're wasting your time with me."

"I don't believe you," he said. He turned and began rifling through some papers on a nearby table. Sidney had seated himself at a nearby computer and seemed sufficiently preoccupied with one-armed typing. Even the handlers seemed lackadaisical about the whole affair.

Lois couldn't take it anymore. Captivity with no point and—more importantly—no end in sight was excruciating. She suddenly spotted something: the tiling on the floor bore the design of a double T and a spread eagle. Recognizing the pattern, she was stunned to find that she was _still_ in the Turion Building. With that realization came hope: if she could get out into the main hall, there would be other people around and she would have a better chance of escape.

If.

Since she wasn't actually fastened to her chair, she decided to take a chance at bolting. She was halfway to the door before anyone seemed to notice. "Take her out," the large man in black said calmly. The two men were rapidly upon her, and one tazed her arm. She dropped to the floor, writhing in pain. They snatched her up and walked her across the room. She turned her head, and for the first time noticed the pit bull that was in a cage to her far left. It hadn't barked the whole time and was, in a word, huge.

"You have to let me go!" Lois screamed, writhing feebly. "I can't do anything for you."

"Simmer down, Sexy. Blood doesn't come out of suede, and we've just had the couches reupholstered."

All of a sudden the room went completely dark, and there was an audible gasp from the quartet of men in the room. The darkness was fierce, as even the windows brought in scant light, and the clamor of the thunderous storm raging outside became more pronounced. A crackle of lightening lit the room for a fraction of a second. A clicking noise sounded out.

"The hell?" the guy in black said. "What happened to the power?"

"Probably the storm," said one of the other guys.

Sidney moaned. "Dammit."

"Where do we put her?" asked one of her handlers. There was a large sigh and the man in black spoke. "Put her in the dog cage 'till we figure out what's going on." Lois felt one of her handlers let go, and it took everything she had not to make a second break for it then. But the one still gripping her was too strong—and she knew it. She could hear the sound of chains and metal and locks and then the patter of four canine feet hitting the concrete floor. Then her body, angrily goaded by coarse hands, moved forward.

"Get inside," he demanded.

"I can't even see," Lois responded. Far from winning her a reprieve, her blindness meant that she was suddenly lifted and unceremoniously stuffed into the cage. She stretched out her arms to find that the cage felt even smaller than it had looked when it housed the giant dog, and the holes weren't even big enough to stick out a fingernail through. It smelled bad also, and she couldn't bring herself to even _think_ about the unidentified matter beneath her feet. Being held without even being deemed worthy of a ransom was a frightening prospect that had just about broken Lois. But being held in a caged cell literally fit for a dog was indignity that…it was unthinkable.

"So, any last words, Ms. Lane?" one of her handlers jeered. The words perplexed her.

"Shut the _hell_ up," Sidney answered, irritated. "This isn't an action movie _and_ you're an idiot, so just shut up." His voice faded as it sounded as he was walking away. "Keep it up and you're going in next."

The insult against her wannabe warden in this makeshift prison did little to comfort Lois.

She heard the two men talking. They weren't whispering, but their voices had dropped to a hush. She caught a word or two and then: "can't kill her here." Lois gasped. She had figured she may have to give up something--some information maybe--but she never imagined they'd…take her life.

"Don't kill me," she pleaded. "I…" she paused. She was going to make up something about having a husband or children or dying dog or something—_anything_ greater than herself—to live for. But instead, she didn't finish. She dropped her head from fatigue and desperation. Her prospects were getting dimmer by the minute. She was accustomed to pushing her luck or cutting it severely close. But before…she'd always had Superman. That constant assurance of having her own personal guardian angel had made her…reckless, _overconfident_…fearless. _Now_…she was on her own. And for the very first time she felt like… she actually may not make it out this alive.

There was a second crack of lightening and it seemed to be right outside the window. The blinding flash and deafening thunder appeared to come from right outside the room. Sidney was on the other side of the room now, silhouetted against the window.

"Barry?" Sidney called out. "You ever seen anything like that?"

"Hmm, hard to say," the man in black, and apparently Barry, said. "Go find out. And find a flashlight while you're at it."

"Hold on," said Sidney. "Something's fishy." He walked from the window. "Send the idiots instead. I'm not letting Lois out of my sight."

Lois could hear the sound of retreating footsteps, and then a door open and shut. There was a moment of silence and then…

There was a blinding white flash--no _blaze_—of lightning so intense that it almost seemed to come from within the room. It was followed by a thunder that crashed into the building, shattering the windows on the outside wall. The floodgates of rain from outside began to pour in and electric pulses danced through the room as if a live wire were in the water. The two men raced to the windows and put froth a feeble effort at keeping the rain out, but it continued racing in and bursts of static electricity sparkled around them with large cracks.

"We gotta get outta here!" Barry called over the cacophony.

"I'm not leaving without Lois," Sidney said. "Druitt was very clear in his instructions." It was the first time Lois had actual confirmation that these men and Druitt were connected.

"You're a moron. You can't take her with you!" Barry yelled.

"Give it a couple seconds and it'll die down," Sidney said.

"I'm gone," Barry replied and the sound of an opening door confirmed it.

Moments later the door opened again.

"Ronny?" Sidney called. "Steve?" There was no reply.

There was another pulse of electricity that audibly coursed through the room, and Lois could hear Sidney cry out in agony.

"Sidney?" she called. There was no reply. "Sidney!" she cried again.

Suddenly he appeared before the cage. "I got shocked," he said, not necessarily to her. "I'm leaving and you're coming with me."

"I'm not going with you anywhere!" Lois shouted.

"There's live electricity coursing through this room. If you stay, you'll die!" he hollered.

"I am not coming with you!" Lois screamed. "I'll take my changes here."

The cage began to rattle and she could hear him fumbling with keys. Lois began kicking the door, hoping it would make it more difficult for him.

"Dammit," he said after a minute. "Barry took the key with him." Lois felt a surge of relief. "I'm shooting off the lock," he announced.

"Nooo," Lois cried. She heard a shot go off and screamed bloody murder. She knew in the dark his aim was perilously risky. Another gunshot rang out and, predictably, he missed it again.

"I'm getting that lock off," he said. She could hear him splashing through water and then a loud clang. The cage began to shake. Another pulse of electricity surged through the room, lighting it brilliant splendor. She heard Sidney cry out with a blood-curdling snarl and a moment later she heard a large splash.

"Sidney?" she called. There was no answer. "Sidney!" she screamed. She leaned against the door of the cage to see if she could see him and the door fell open. She lowered down one leg to find a body under her foot. "Sidney?" she whispered. But she had no time. She raced for the door and ran down the stairwell until she had reached the main floor. When she got outside she saw a crowd of people gathered.

"Hey," one man asked. He was a paramedic. "Where are you coming from? We evacuated this building a half-hour ago."

Lois weighed her words. "I came to deliver some dry cleaning and got turned around; after the storm started, I couldn't leave. I…hoped someone would come for me."

One paramedic nodded empathetically. "There's an ambulance waiting," he said. "You should probably go and get checked out."

"No!" Lois yelled, then caught herself. "Thank you, but I'm going home." With that she ran for her car.

* * *

Feedback is like applause at the end of a concert. Do it enough and you might get an encore.


	29. Security

**CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: SECURITY**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers._

**Notes:** (To the tune of "We Are the Champions") Ahem…Katy's my beta my friends, and she'll keep on fixing to the end. Katy's my beta, Katy's my beta, No time for haters, Cuz Katy's the beta…Of the world! (Apologies to Queen)

* * *

"Rebecca!" Clark shouted from outside. He'd been in front of her door for twenty-five minutes, but she had yet to come out. He would have called her, but…his phone seemed to be missing. He knew she was home; he saw her car in the garage and, besides, he had x-ray vision; he'd taken a quick peek. "Please come out; we need to talk." He had stopped knocking ten minutes ago and had resorted to just screaming her name every so often. He was currently sitting Indian style with his back resting against the door.

The neighbor across the hall was the only one to finally answer.

"Quit yelling or I'm calling the police," he said and slammed the door.

"You hear that Rebecca?" Clark called. "They're going to call the police."

The door suddenly opened and Clark fell back. "Rebecca," he said, hurrying to stand.

"Clark, please just go away," she said. Her face was red, her eyes were puffy, and she had changed into her PJs. She went to close the door, but Clark caught it with his hand.

"Please," he pleaded. "Just let me inside. _Please._"

She gave him a resigned look through the crack of the door before opening it wider and immediately lying down on the couch with her face buried under pillows.

Clark gingerly closed the door behind him, and then…just stood there.

It was then that he realized that he really didn't have anything prepared. He wished he had made better use of his time outside. Talking to the back of her head didn't make it any easier.

"Um, Rebecca, I want to apologize," he began, "for…just screwing up." He stopped.

She didn't move for probably a full minute. Clark didn't know if he should leave or check to make sure she was still breathing. He was leaning towards the former when she suddenly spoke.

"Why are you here, Clark?" she asked, her voice muffled through the pillows.

"Because," he said, kneeling next to her. "Because when I got back to the restaurant you were already gone. And I know you're mad. And I want to fix this."

She turned her face to him. "Fix what?" she asked. "Are you even my boyfriend?"

"Of course I am," he said. "Why do you even have to ask?"

"Because Clark…tonight," she paused. "Tonight I felt like a fool."

Clark's heart sunk. "Why?"

"Why?" She sat up. "_Why?_ Because my 'boyfriend' tells me he's outside helping a drunk guy and that he'll be back in a few minutes and a half an hour later he's nowhere to be found. What, you thought I wouldn't start wondering?"

"It took longer than I thought," Clark said.

"Stop lying, Clark!" she yelled. "Just stop. I already checked your phone. You were calling Lois."

"My phone," Clark gasped. "I must've dropped my phone."

"Clark, if you want to be with Lois, just say so and stop wasting my time, okay?"

"I don't wanna be with Lois," he said, completely confused. "Lois is just a friend."

"People don't have to hide their friends, Clark. I'm not stupid. The last few days, I've looked on and felt like the third-wheel in my own relationship. You friggin' finish each other sentences," she paused. "Clark, I know you two used to date."

He fell back, stunned. "Where did you hear that?" he asked.

"Everyone knows, Clark. It's obvious. I thought you were over her, but…" she turned her head and batted away a tear.

Clark grabbed her hands and looked her in the eye. "Lois and I have never dated…_ever_. Those are just rumors."

She pulled her hands away. "Really?" she said incredulously. "Then where were you tonight? And if you say helping that drunk man, so help me God."

Clark took a hard breath. "After Lois went to get the shirts she got into some trouble. She called me to come and help her. She has a way of…cutting it too close." He groped for the words. "She's fearless really."

"Clark, you don't get it! I don't care about Lois!" Rebecca yelled. "I wanna know why the hell you were there? Doesn't _she_ have a boyfriend she can call?"

Clark sighed. "I'm her partner, Rebecca."

It was the wrong thing to say, and he realized it the minute the words crossed his lips. Rebecca stared at him for several seconds wordlessly.

"I'm through, Clark," she said finally, storming past him. He stood and grabbed her arm. Her head snapped back to him—not pleased. He let go.

"Hear me out," Clark began. "Lois was using the shirts as a decoy for some role she was playing as a…tailor or something. She got mixed in with some tough guys and needed someone to vouch for her. I swear to you, we talked shop, sorted out some details, and I was gone."

Rebecca shook her head, hardly soothed.

"Why couldn't you just tell me that, Clark?" she asked.

"Because…I wasn't sure if you'd understand," he replied. She looked away, tears pooling in her eyes. He pulled her closer. He _had_ to fix this. "Listen, Rebecca, I am sorry for tonight. I lied and that's inexcusable—you deserve the truth. But I assure you that, despite whatever I've done to make you think that I'm not in this _one_ hundred percent, I am. I am _not_ in love with Lois." Hearing the words come from his own mouth was jarring. He'd never said he _was_ in love with Lois…but he'd never said he _wasn't_. "I'm…I'm in love with you."

He could see something click in Rebecca, and she nodded. Tears were streaming down her face.

"Tell me you believe me," Clark said.

Her head fell into her hands. "I believe you," she said. She moved forward a little and Clark placed his hands on her shoulders. She laid her head against his chest. He could feel her heart beating against his. "No more lies?" she asked.

Clark sighed. "No more lies," he replied, and he died a little on the inside. They stood that way for a while, silently reconnecting and healing the damage. As moments passed, he felt her soften in his arms.

"I'm sorry, Clark," she said. "It's just, I've dated some real jerks, and my heart has been broken…_badly_." She looked up at him. "Forgive me if they've made it hard for me to trust you." She nestled under him and held him tighter. Clark responded by kissing her on the top of her head.

"I…I haven't made it easy either," Clark stammered. She looked up at him and the two met in a tender kiss. Her eyebrows furrowed just a little.

"You're all wet," she whispered.

"Yeah," Clark replied, nodding. Suddenly, the two could hear his cell phone vibrating. "My phone," Clark said aimlessly, without moving.

"About that," Rebecca said. She looked up at Clark with a flirtatious grin. "You can get that back on _one_ condition."

-----

Lois banged on the door with all her might. She needed to talk to Lex—now.

"Lois," he said as he opened the door. She must have looked as bad as she felt. Lex ushered her inside. "Are you well? You're all wet."

"Are you alone?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, walking her to the couch. "I don't typically keep staff here at the condo."

"Druitt," Lois said, breathless. "He's alive."

"Druitt?" Lex repeated while walking towards the kitchen. "Who is Druitt?"

"Douglas Druitt," she said.

Lex looked confused, emerging with a towel. He wrapped it around her.

"Lois, here. Let me make you a cup of tea--"

"No!" Lois shouted. "Hear me out." Lex paused, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You know Tom Dresnell from the other night?" she continued.

"_Knew_ him; he's dead."

"He's _not_," Lois insisted. Lex grabbed a chair and, placing it in front of Lois, sat down. "He's alive. I just saw him, and I had a hunch he was, but you wouldn't believe me, but I saw his picture and it was Douglas Druitt, and he's hiding a lab in the Turion Building and his henchman…"

Lex's head was spinning. "Lois, slow down. What happened?"

"I was sitting out in front of the site of the old Lachlan Lab, hoping to stumble on a clue when a FedEx man appeared. He asked me if I was waiting for a package. Of course I offered to sign for it, but he told me that the only person who could sign for it was--"

"Tom Dresnell," Lex finished.

"No, Douglas Druitt. I searched and found out that Druitt was the CEO of a regional textile company that's based on the fifth floor of the Turion Building."

"Yeah, KFG's," Lex said with recognition, shaking his head excitedly. "We have to go and find him," he announced, rising.

"I already did!" Lois yelled. She clutched her head. She had a ferocious headache.

Lex sat back down. "Did you talk to him?"

She shook her head. She went to talk, but her voice caught.

"Lois, you're shaking," Lex said. "You don't look well." He crouched in front of her, his face plagued with concern. "I think you should drink something hot, or, um, I can send for fresh clothing."

Lois dropped her head. She began to sob.

"Lois," Lex said stunned. "What is it? What happened?" But her tears were coming too fast to speak. She covered her face with her hands, willing herself to stop, but she couldn't. Lex ran for the bathroom and emerged with a box of tissues. But upon returning, he just stood there, staggering. He paced the floor anxiously.

"He has people. They tried to kill me," she said, finally. "I just barely got away."

Lex's face got steely. "I knew this would happen." He took the seat next to Lois. He handed her several tissues, and she dabbed her eyes.

"Lex, I just _barely_ got away,' she said, fresh tears marking her cheeks. She willed herself to stop crying and pull herself together but couldn't. She could feel Lex's look of pity burning into the side of her head.

"Lois," he began, "you are a woman of extreme prowess and intelligence. Your instincts and tenacity are matchless. But when you are dealing with criminals of this caliber, your press pass and righteous indignation will only get you so far."

"I know, Lex." She took another tissue, blowing her nose, "I've been in close scrapes before, _many_ times before, but--" She dropped her head; there was something she couldn't bring herself to say. Lex waited a beat before responding.

"Lois, I can be the one to help you," he said. "That's why I'm here. But you're going to have to tell me everything that happened. _Everything_."

Lois nodded and caught her breath. Then, she began her story. She recounted every detail she could remember. The doorman, the lady at the desk, the portrait, the shirts, the handlers, the body.

"I don't know how I didn't get electrocuted," Lois said through a sniffle.

"You were in a cage." Lex said rising. "It's called Gauss's Law."

"Huh?" Lois said.

"Gauss's Law says that the electric flux through any closed surface is proportional to the enclosed electric charge. It's like being inside a car during a lightning storm. As Sidney pried the lock with whatever instrument he had, he was electrocuted while you sat safely inside the cage, unharmed."

Lois gave him a disgusted look and rolled her eyes. "I just want some aspirin and a coke," she said. He left and returned with a bottle of valium and nothing to wash it down with; she swallowed one dry.

"It all makes sense now," he said, pacing the floor. "The Turion Building, Robert Trace, the CDC, the patents."

"What are you talking about?" Lois said, spinning. "Patents? Who's Robert Trace?"

"Robert Trace is Sidney. Well, _was_ Sidney. I've had my eye on him for weeks," Lex said casually.

"Hold on…and you didn't tell me?" Lois said.

Lex turned around. "Lois, there is such a thing as knowing too much," Lex began.

"There such a thing as knowing too little, Lex!" she yelled. "And that almost killed me tonight." She dropped her head in her hands.

"I didn't know if I could trust you…then," he said. He walked towards Lois, crouching in front of her, placing a hand on her knee. "But now I know I can." He resumed his seat beside her on the sofa. "Robert Trace was the man who turned Lachlan Labs in to the FBI. He's been on the Witness Protection Program since the incident and, as a result, was one of the persons that escaped the fallout of Lionel's ire. I discovered that someone going by Sidney White had requested a copy of my father's death certificate. When I learned the person was not affiliated with the press, it raised my suspicions. Through some…_prudent_ investigation, I discovered that Sidney White and Robert Trace were one and the same. He had requested 48 other certificates, including those for twelve people who aren't even dead."

"Why?" Lois asked.

"He was secretly taking a roll call," Lex said. "They've resumed the project that was abandoned all those years ago and assembled a team, starting with the original players."

Lois thought a moment, her eyes growing large. "Your father killed 36 people?"

"Well, s_ome_ died of natural causes," Lex replied. Lois stared back motionless; she was walking with monsters. "Lois, Metropolis is covered in the blood my father shed. He was a hated man, and by extension, so am I. There are people who will not rest until they see my head on a platter. This is a dangerous place for me _and _for—" He stopped.

"And for anyone who's with you," Lois finished.

Lex nodded. "But this is my home. I will never leave Metropolis…_ever_. And I'll defend it to my death."

The words confused Lois; Lex spoke them with so much passion and yet, she had always thought of him as Metropolis Public Enemy Number One. Even so, she couldn't deny the resolve in his voice, or the affection he had for this city, and with Superman gone, Metropolis was a city in need of a hero.

Lois needed a hero, too.

"Lex, all these deaths from the 'mystery bug'…this is the work of Douglas Druitt," she said.

Lex turned to Lois, looking her squarely in the eye. "I know."

Just then, her phone rang. It was an unidentified caller.

"Hello," she answered.

"This is Douglas Druitt," the voice said. Lex's eyes widened. He mouthed for Lois to put the call on speaker. She did.

"How can I be sure?" she said.

"Because I know you are wearing a black and white polka dot dress with red shoes. You were at the Turion Building earlier this evening." Lex nodded.

"What do you want from me Mr. Druitt?" Lois said.

"Your forgiveness. My men almost did you harm tonight, and for that I apologize. They are too hasty in their protection of me."

"Hasty? _Hasty?_ They almost killed me," Lois shouted.

"Again, my apologies. But I want to make it up to you."

"How could you ever?"

"I need to meet you…face to face." Lois was stunned. In her current mental state, she didn't even know if this was a win or a trap. "You recall I tried to meet with you once before…in the alley. This time I would like to make an actual connection."

"Why should I meet you? What will I get from it other than a brush with death and a horror show?"

"You will get the answers to all of your questions, Ms. Lane. And I do mean…_all_."

"And what's in it for you—why meet with me?"

"I may be successful in dissuading you from continuing your alliance with Lex Luthor." Lex and Lois looked at each other.

"Where?" Lois asked.

"Behind the grocery on South Market Ave. I will meet you tomorrow at 7:00 PM. You _will_ be coming alone Ms. Lane. Hmm?"

"Of course," she replied.

"I look forward to meeting with you." He hung up.

Lex started up immediately. "I'll meet you the next block up at 6:30," he said. "I will have security there as well."

"But you have to be discrete—I promised I would come alone."

"Lois, for me, this is business as—"

Just then there was a loud crash coming from a nearby room. They both froze as they heard the sound of rumbling and feet. Lex motioned for Lois to be quiet and ushered her down the hall and into his bedroom.

"Lex, what is going on?" Lois whispered once they were inside. She grabbed her purse. "I'm calling the police."

"No," Lex whispered loudly. He sat Lois on the bed before reaching over her and pulling a gun from his nightstand. He opened the bedroom door, turning off the lights as he did. "You stay here." He exited, shutting the door behind him.

He cut off the lights to the living room making his way to where he heard the commotion. The sound had moved to his office. Nearing the door, Lex spotted a young man groping his way through the dark. Unnoticed, Lex slipped silently behind a decorative tree near the room's entrance and leveled his gun at the intruder.

"Don't move," Lex said, his voice steely and cold. The young man obeyed, freezing and looking around. "Who are you?" Lex demanded.

"Don't hurt me, I just want to get out of here," the young man said. His voice sounded like that of a teenager.

Lex emerged from the tree, his gun leading the way. "I'm going to ask you one more time, and then I shoot. Who are you?" Lex repeated. The boy visibly started when he saw Lex.

"I'm David Lee, and I'm staying with my older sister for Spring Break. I missed curfew and tried to sneak back in, but I came in the wrong window."

"This is the thirty-sixth story," Lex reminded the boy.

"I went to the roof, and rappelled my way down. I wash windows with my dad. Please don't kill me." He began to cry.

"Toss me your wallet," Lex commanded. The boy didn't move. "Now!" Lex roared. The boy took out his wallet and slid it across the floor to Lex. Gun still outstretched, Lex thumbed through the wallet with one hand. The name, age, occupation and everything else checked out. Lex lowered his gun and turned on the light. He walked towards the boy, who cowered as Lex approached. Lex handed the boy his wallet. "Get out," he said. The boy raced from the room, and a moment later Lex heard the front door slam.

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Thank you so for the continued feedback. Good, bad or ugly, it lets me know you're out there.


	30. Unions

**CHAPTER THIRTY: UNIONS**  
_See Chapter 1 for story headers_

**Notes:** I HATE commenting on my own work; I believe all art should speak for itself. However, unlike a book that has 300 pages, or a movie that is two hours long, or a season of television that promises 23 episodes, a fan fiction gives no indication as to its length. That leaves its readers with a constant feeling of anxiety about _when_ issues are going to be resolved, or if their hopes for the fic will ever materialize. So, I am informing readers that this fic will be a total of 54 chapters, most of which are already written. I also assure readers that this is indeed a Clois story; however, it is a bare-knuckle Clois story, and _not_ for the faint of heart.

* * *

Clark and Rebecca were on her loveseat busily making out. Most of their dates eventually got around to this: the two of them, on the couch, locking lips.

After several minutes, they just kind of pulled apart. They were both smiling brightly, just staring at each other.

"I'm glad you're not mad at me anymore," Clark said, brushing stray hair from her face.

"Me too," Rebecca agreed.

Clark sighed contentedly. "You wanna watch a movie? I think that new romantic comedy starring Dakota Fanning is out on demand." He stood to get the remote, but Rebecca pulled him back down.

She leaned over and tapped his nose before kissing it. "You know we've been going out for three weeks and haven't had sex yet."

"Woah!" Clark said, giggling.

"What's funny, Clark?" she asked, laughing too.

"Nothing, nothing. It's just…woah."

"Don't you want to have sex with me?" she asked flirtatiously.

"Of course, of course," Clark insisted, nodding vigorously. "It's just, um, that…um--"

"That you're old-fashioned?"

Clark sighed. "I'm not old-fashioned."

"Yes, Clark, you are. You're a perfect gentleman. That's what I love about you. But, I mean…we _are_ adults."

"Yeah, absolutely, we are absolutely, positively adults." They sat staring at each other, both smiling.

Clark was _not_ old-fashioned. Well, maybe a little old-fashioned. It was just the way he was raised. He'd gone through high-school a virgin. He'd had that thing with Lana and a couple steady girlfriends in college, but since graduating and coming to _The Planet_, he could count his sexual encounters on two hands, and his partners on two…fingers. And even those encounters had been as Clark Kent.

As Superman, he'd had sex—or no, _made love_—exactly once. He hadn't been with anyone since.

"So," Rebecca said.

"So," Clark echoed. Swallowing hard, and suddenly all business, he slowly began to unbutton his shirt.

"Stop," Rebecca said, putting her hand on his. "Don't you want something to drink, some wine or maybe some soft music?"

"Of course, of course," Clark said. "Of course."

Rebecca rose and grabbed two wine glasses. She bypassed a mirror as she did. "No wonder you don't want to sleep with me; I look like I just finished wrestling a hog."

"No you don't," Clark protested. "You look fine."

"No, Clark," she said. "I'll be right back." She skipped off to her bedroom. Clark thought he heard a blow dryer.

He beat his head on the back of the couch. _Man up, Clark,_ he told himself. _Don't be such a pansy. There are men all over the world who would pay to screw her._ He cringed. _Not saying that she's a prostitute_, he told himself.

Just then he heard a large crash.

"Rebecca?" he called, making his way to the bedroom. When he entered, there was a chandelier sprawled across her bed.

"Damn light fixture," she sighed. "This little chandelier-looking thing is so pretty and really old; I got it from the flea market. But the maintenance guys didn't mount it correctly and look, now two of the bulbs are broken. Gosh."

"Hold on," Clark said. "I don't think I can do anything about the bulbs, but I think I see why it fell. You have a stool? And a Philips head?"

"Um, what's a Philips head?"

"Nevermind, just a stool then," he said.

"Just hop on the mattress," she said.

Clark gingerly climbed on the bed and then went to work on the fixture. It needed a little welding, so he used his body to block the view of the heat coming from his eyes. He sucked in any little smoke or dust. The whole job only took a couple minutes.

"Turn on the light," he instructed. She grabbed the remote. The chandelier came to life. Clark just nodded, proud of his work.

"Yay, Clark!" Rebecca exclaimed and jumped on the bed clapping.

After the warning of a creaking sound, the entire bed collapsed under them with a loud crash, and the two of them went down with it, falling in a heap with Rebecca on top.

After an initial moment of shock, they both fell out laughing. Their mutual laughter caused them to laugh even more until tears were literally streaming down Clark's face. Rebecca reached for his glasses, easing them off his nose. Clark, almost defensively, closed his eyes; she reached up and wiped the tears from his face. She pressed her lips against his in a sweltering kiss that seemed to course through Clark's veins. He grabbed the remote, turning out the lights.

"Take me now, Clark," she whispered in his ear.

And, flipping her onto her back, that's just what he did.

-----

Lois sat alone in the bedroom, quietly fighting panic. Every worst case scenario ran through her mind, and every second that passed without Lex's return only agitated her more. Trembling, she called Clark, then hung up. _What could he do?_ The bedroom door suddenly opened—it was Lex.

Lois ran to him. "Who was it?" she said breathlessly. He didn't answer. She beat her fists into his chest collapsing into tears. "Who was it, Lex! Tell me!" Lex embraced her, gently patting the back of her head. "It was Druitt, wasn't it? It was one of his men."

"I don't know," he said finally. "The bastard got away."

Lois sobbed into his chest. "How did they find me? How did they know I was here? Oh my God."

"Shhh," Lex comforted her, embracing her tighter. "Don't worry; I have my security circling the building. Trust me, you're safe."

"But how can I know that, Lex? These people are powerful; they murder without blinking an eye. And now they want to kill _me_. I can't go tomorrow, I can't."

Lex suddenly grabbed Lois by the shoulders and looked at her with a fixed determination. "Listen to me Lois," he began. The bit of light trickling through the window caught the green of his eyes, and they seemed to pierce through Lois's very soul. "You are going to meet Druitt tomorrow. You are going to go down there and pump him for all he knows. And he's going to give it to you to. You know how I know? Because you are Lois Lane. While other reporters are biding their time on garbage disposal articles, you're exposing the great crimes of our modern era. _You?_ You don't squander chances like this, and you didn't get here by being afraid. You got here by being _fearless_. These men can't hurt you. They _fear_ you …they fear your pen." He paused, taking a labored breath. "And I fear you." His eyes dropped before meeting hers again. "You vanquish me Lois…you leave me spellbound, with your ambition…your wit…your beauty…."

Lois wasn't sure who kissed who first; their mouths just came together--gently in that first moment, but mercilessly insatiable in the next. There was a ferociousness and fervor between them—in their embrace, in their passion, in their hunger—that consumed them both like a roaring fire. It was primal…and _fierce_. Lex descended upon her tear-stained face with a raging appetite. Lois responded in kind. Every kiss and every touch was never enough and only led them to a heightened sense of urgency and desire.

Lois clawed at Lex's shirt, ripping the cloth from his body. She was surprised to find him firm and toned under his lean physique. While working on his belt, she could feel his well-kept, nimble hands as they found their way under her blouse. He worked hurriedly and greedily, discarding her top before unlatching her bra. As he did so, he crouched a little, exploring with his mouth the soft underside of her jaw. His lips were moist and supple, his tongue, coarse and thirsty. She barely noticed when her bra joined the ever growing pile of garments on the floor.

"Lex," she whispered, almost light headed. One button and a brisk zip and his pants fell to the floor. Lex removed his boxers revealing what Lois thought she would never see in a million lifetimes: his manhood in all its glory. And glorious it was. The two joined again, exploring each other with their lips, with their tongues, their fingers. Lois could feel Lex groping behind him, probably for a condom. She pulled away and discarded her own skirt, before moving, haltingly, towards the palatial bed. Lex grabbed her by the panties with one finger, pulling her back.

"Take them off," he whispered in her ear. She obeyed. He fitfully opened the condom before she snatched it from his hands.

"Allow me," she said. Teasingly, she grazed the length of his shaft drawing a moan from him as he threw his head back in pleasure. When she rose again, in one swoop, he lifted her in the air, and she wrapped her legs around him until they rested on his firm glutes. With her straddling him, he carried her across the room, twirling her nipple in his tongue—drawing from her a satisfied moan. He slammed her naked body into the wall. He crouched over her and, leaning against the wall with one hand, he cradled her head with the other, his fingers intertwined in her tussled tresses; Lois clung to him desperately, her hands caressing the nape of his neck. Then, he pulled away. Out of breath and flushed, his eyes met hers.

The faintest doubt on his face. His eyes seemed to ask, "Do you want this?"

Lois pressed her lips into his as her affirmative reply and they careened into ecstasy.

* * *

Your feedback fills my sails. Thank you.


	31. Tomorrow

**CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: TOMORROW**  
See Chapter 1 for story headers.

**

* * *

Notes:** IceQueen825 gave me just a great (ahem, better!) idea for how to reveal the details of the Clark rescue, and I just had to use it. So, if you like it, give her the credit. If you hate it, blame me :)

There were flashes everywhere, flashes of light. Blindingly bright, so bright he could hardly see. And there was crashing. Deafening crashing. And gun shots against metal. Ping. Ping. Ping. And then there was Lois. She was screaming. "Help me! Help me! Help me, Clark!" she cried. But he was too late. She was already shot. Red hot blood ran from her veins, down her body and out into the world, dying everything its path a grisly shade of crimson.

"Clark, Clark."

Clark woke up abruptly. He looked around. Glowing skeletons surrounded him. He turned to his left. There was one right beside him. He jumped back and slammed his eyes shut. When he opened them up—it was Rebecca.

"Clark," she repeated.

"What happened?" he said breathless.

"You were having a nightmare."

Clark scrambled to sit up. He scrubbed his face with his hands. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't apologize," Rebecca said. She took his hand. "Does that happen often?"

"Um…kinda," he said. He turned to her. Her face was filled with concern. He brushed her hair with his hand. "But usually I don't wake up to your beautiful face."

She gave up a smile. She leaned her head against his chest. "I'm worried about you, Clark," she said. He kissed the top of her head.

"Don't be," he said. "I'm fine." He slid back under the covers and she did the same. Still touching, she turned to her side, snuggling in her pillows and comforters. Clark cuddled beside her, wrapping her in his massive arm. All was quiet and she quickly fell back asleep.

Clark, however, did not find falling back asleep to be quite so easy. He couldn't shake images of the Turion Building out of his head. He lied there,, sleepless for at least an hour as he continually replayed everything in his head: when he cut the power to the building, when he smashed the windows with his breath, when he sent a live wire into the room. He'd never imagine the "Sidney" guy would be so stubborn, so resistant to leaving. It had been his one miscalculation. He'd also never planned on actually entering the room, but he had to intercept the bullets—and get Lois out of that cage. Sidney's unfortunate death was just a byproduct of his own evil obstinance. Right?

He suddenly remembered that someone had called him the previous night, and he wondered where his phone was. He spotted it on Rebecca's nightstand. Figuring that he had more than met the one condition to get it back, he carefully reached over her body, sure not to wake her, and grabbed the phone. He took a quick glimpse at his missed calls.

"Baby?" he whispered to Rebecca. She didn't respond. "Rebecca?" Confirming that she was sufficiently asleep, he crept from the bed and put on his boxers before making his way down the hall to the bathroom. He went inside and, locking the door, sat on the lid of the toilet.

Then, he made the call. There was one ring, then two, then three, then four.

"Hello. You have reached the voicemail of Lois Lane. Please leave your name, number, and favorite adverb after the beep."

Clark didn't typically leave Lois voice messages since he knew she never checked them, but this time he made an exception. "I know it's only 7:00, but I noticed you called last night, and I was just checking to make sure you're okay," he said. "Call me back when you get this, Lois…_please_."

-----

Her head was aching, she felt a little stiff, and by the flood of light coming in through the window, Lois knew she was already late for work. She glanced at the clock to her side: it was 9:24. Sitting up straight, it was then that she was forced to confront the fact she had been mentally avoiding for the last ten minutes. It was enough to send her crashing back down to her pillow.

The hard reality was…she'd slept with Lex Luthor.

It brought back to her mind a far-flung memory from ten years earlier. Barely-legal, disillusioned, and humiliated, she had made her way to Lex's Gothic mansion one spring night in Smallville. The butler had invited her up to Lex's study, but she'd waited in the foyer. She'd only meant to apologize—yet again—for her sister's behavior, make her peace, and leave. But when Lex appeared, she'd broken down in tears, unable to speak for several minutes. He'd finally led her to his parlor and offered her a drink. The night had moved slowly, with Lois sipping on her cosmo while listening to Lex recount stories of his own delinquent brother. Lex had been kind and understanding, and for a few moments, he had been the balm to her reality that lay in tatters. She distinctly remembered wondering, at the time, if he were really as bad as everyone said.

The next time she saw him—years later—he was _the_ Lex Luthor, CEO of one of the most dubious corporations on earth and purveyor of everything that was wrong about Metropolis.

Lex was the kind of lover that left you ravished—weak and whimpering—in his wake. And yet, this morning she'd woken up feeling like a...

"Fool," came a cry from a woman. It took a moment to figure out where the sound was coming from. It took another moment for Lois to realize the woman had said food. "Food," came the voice again, and Lois detected a German accent. "Food for you."

"Come in," Lois called, gathering up the sheets around herself.

"Mr. Luthor send food for you," the woman said, embellishing her sentence by pointing to the food and then to Lois. "You want?"

"Yes...um...thank you. Here," Lois said, patting the bed next to her. "Thank you." The woman put the tray on the bed. She then smiled at Lois.

"You pretty," the woman said.

"Thank you," Lois replied, suddenly feeling even More naked. The woman nodded and left, closing the door behind her.

Lois examined the spread before her. There was salmon, with some kind of mango garnish, and two poached eggs on toast. To drink there was water, a glass of cranberry juice, and (by the smell of it) some coffee that Chloe would have loved. Lois stared at the whole thing, wishing it would turn into a giant bowl of oatmeal.

Determined to wake up, she yawned and stretched—and it was then that she noticed a purple card on the pillow next to her own. Opening it, she read the message inside.

_ Lois-- _

_ I'm sorry for any distress that last night might have brought you. I've gotten an early start and will meet you at South Market Street at 6:30. _

_ -- L._

Lois closed the card and leaned back against the headboard. She felt even worse than before. She'd just have to accept it: This was the morning after with Lex.

* * *

Thank you for your feedback…all of it.


	32. Brazen

**CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: BRAZEN  
**_See Chapter 1 for story headers_

* * *

Clark stood up when Lois entered the office. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She cut her eye at him, tossing her work bag next to her desk. "Of course, Clark," she said, although her appearance said otherwise. Clark noted the faintest hint of defensiveness in her voice. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason," he stammered. "It's just I was hoping that after you had picked up the shirts that you were alright. I was hoping that the people you were with…you know… were alright."

She turned to him with a look of irritated confusion on her face.

"What are you talking about, Clark?"

"Nothing," he sighed. He took his seat and resumed working.

She started rifling through papers. "I saw you called me a couple times last night. What was up?"

Clark hesitated. "I called to find out if you knew who sings that song 'Against the Wind'."

Lois gave him the look she does when she suspects he's lying. "Bob Seger," she answered.

"Yeah, we figured it out," Clark said. He looked up. "Um, Lois, can you do me a favor?"

"What is it, Clark?" she said, flipping through her mail.

"I might have told Rebecca that I was with you last night, just for like, half an hour."

"I thought y'all had a date last night?"

"We did. So, if she mentions it, just…go with it, please."

Lois looked at Clark with bemusement and then shrugged. "Sure, Clark, whatever."

Clark waited a minute. "Don't you want to know why?" he asked.

Lois shook her head. "Nope." Then she added, "So you're lying to this one, too, Clark?"

"It's complicated, Lois," he said.

Lois sighed, reminded of her own tumultuous night. "Yeah, I guess it is."

The day went on in polar activity. Clark was up every few minutes, running to meetings, taking guests, grabbing coffee. Lois, on the other hand, was pecking away at her computer, physically planted at her desk, but otherwise hostage: hostage to the meeting that would be coming tonight. The daring side of her, the daughter of-a-four-star-general side, had her chomping at the bit, ready for confrontation and demanding the answers to her questions. But then, there was that other part of her brain, the part that she usually ignored, that told her that she was about to get herself into a world a trouble. Trouble that she couldn't get out of alone.

She tried to comfort herself by reflecting on Lex's promises of security. She had to—it was the only security she had.

Noon came soon enough, and Rebecca with it. She'd arrived to collect Clark, but…he wasn't there.

"Have any idea where Clark might be?" Rebecca asked.

"Sorry, I don't," Lois replied.

"That's okay," Rebecca said. "I'll snoop around for him." She went to leave then turned back. "Oh, and Lois, I hope you're feeling better. Clark told me you had a tough night."

_Well, part of this lie was true_, Lois thought to herself. "I'm fine, Rebecca. Thanks for asking."

Rebecca smiled and left.

-----

After two, there was a knock at the door.

"I bet you ten dollars it's Rebecca," Lois whispered.

"Fifteen it's Robby," Clark replied, not even glancing up from his computer. "Something about that knock sounds....I dunno, it's not Rebecca."

"Fair enough--you got a deal," Lois said. There was another knock. "Definitely Rebecca."

"It's not Rebecca," Clark muttered.

"Come in!" Lois yelled.

"I hope I'm not intruding," came the voice that matched the man standing at the door. He removed his sunglasses.

It was Lex Luthor.

The shock was enough to push Clark from his chair. "What are you doing here?" he snarled fiercely.

"Good to see you too, Clark," was Lex's facetious reply.

"I asked you a question," Clark seethed through grit teeth.

"Perhaps Ms. Lane here can answer it for you." Lex turned to Lois. "Ms. Lane?"

She approached him, taking the papers from his hand. "Thank you. You can go now."

Lex looked at her with a knowing stare, and Clark looked on in disbelief as she returned it. "Good day," Lex said finally, put his glasses back on and left.

Lois made her way back to her seat hurriedly, and fidgeted between her computer, files, and purse. She was putting forth every effort to be calm, but she knew she was failing miserably. Clark hadn't moved since Lex had left, and he still remained standing a couple of feet away from his desk. She could feel his stare burning into the side of her head and looked up to find his eyes locked on her own.

"_What,_ Clark?" she yelled.

"What. Clark," Clark replied flatly. "Mind filling me in on what just happened?"

"I inquired about some information for the CDC story. He told me he would send it through one of his people. I had no idea he would show up in the flesh."

"Why in creation are you even _dealing_ with him?" Clark said, advancing closer and voice rising.

"I am not _dealing_ with him, Clark. I got some information from _LuthorCorp_. You of all people should know how tangled LuthorCorp is in _everything_ in Metropolis."

Clark said nothing and sat down. But he was still staring at her…and he was angry.

"Stop looking at me!" she demanded.

"Lex Luthor is _dangerous_--," Clark began, incensed.

"You know what Clark," Lois interrupted, "_you are not my __**father**_! Get it in your head. I am a trained professional just like you are, and I make decisions about which informants I use _every day_. And I'm not going to have you condescend to me like you are the sage of all things dangerous, criminal, Metropolis, or Luthor. I'm sick of it."

Clark rose up from his seat, opened the door, and left.

* * *

It's called feedback because I eat it.


	33. Impatient

**CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: IMPATIENT**  
_See Chapter 1 for headers_

* * *

It was all over the news. The so-called "mystery bug" was pouring out of the nursing homes and into the streets. At least twenty people were infected and there were two suspected deaths. Nearby counties were monitoring visitors from Metropolis, and some schools were even sending students home. This was the _very_ scenario that Lois had been anticipating, and so it came as no surprise when Perry called her into his office for yet another meeting. She was hoping for the promotion of her findings to the front page, but when she saw the purple Styrofoam football sitting on his desk, she realized that she might have been hoping for too much.

"Thanks for coming in, Lois. Take a seat," he said as he busily typed away. He was in Professional Mode. This was going to be a long meeting.

After a few moments he turned to her. "Thanks for your patience. There are just a few questions I have for you…mostly about the 'mystery bug.' I'll…well, _we'll_ be using the Question and Answer Ball."

The Question and Answer Ball was a discussion technique that Perry had picked up at a leadership conference back in the 1980s. When Perry was holding the ball, he only asked questions. When the reporter was holding the ball, he or she only had answers. The type of ball that he used didn't seem to matter, and old-timers talked of tennis balls, hacky sacks, beach balls, and, during one misguided meeting, a bowling ball, which led to injury and a court-ordered suspension of the Question and Answer Ball for six months. The suit was later settled out of court. Despite such setbacks, Perry lauded the merits of the ball to all new employees, and it enjoyed its fair share of fans. Lois, however, found it _severely_ overrated, and after seven years, still hadn't gotten the hang of it.

"I guess the main crux of this meeting is…well, I checked through all the references."

"_Yourself_?" Lois asked. Perry held up the ball. "Sorry," she said.

"Well, I checked through all the references, and there are just a few holes that I can't plug in," he said. "Like, how do you know about this tattoo that Dresnell allegedly has?" He handed Lois the ball.

Lois didn't take it. "You toss it to the guys," Lois said.

"What do you mean?" Perry asked.

"Well, last week, we were talking about the Question and Answer Ball, and it came out that you toss the ball to the guys, but hand it to the women."

"God Almighty, Lois, does everything have to turn into a feminist rant with you?" Perry cried. "That was a question," he added, and tossed her the ball.

"No," she said, and tossed it back.

He rolled his eyes. "So how do you know about the tattoo?" He tossed her the ball.

"I don't know if I can tell you." She tossed the ball back.

"What do you mean you don't know if you can tell me?" Toss.

"Well, I promised to keep this source a secret." Toss.

"But I need to…," he amended the statement. "Lois, who could it be that is so top secret?" Toss.

"It's a confidential source, Perry." Toss.

"C'mon, Lois, don't you just want to operate above board and let me know?" She looked resistant. "Do you think I would compromise your source?" Toss.

"Of course not, Perry," Lois sat up, highly uncomfortable. "But it's not about that. I promised I wouldn't say anything. I mean, I'm really not…I'm not at liberty. I mean, _I promised_." She sat there, agitated.

"Give me the ball," Perry said. She handed it to him. "Do you think we are running a tabloid here?" he asked. "You think you can just pinky swear that you got it from a reliable source?"

"No," Lois said without the ball.

"Then why can't you tell me?" Toss.

"Look, Perry, I've done this a million times before. The source is confidential. Revealing who it is would be journalistic malpractice." And suddenly she didn't feel the need to be defensive. "I smell the Global Press." Toss.

"And is that a problem?" he retorted. Lois turned away with her lips sealed. Perry shook his head, thumbing through more papers. "And the alleged cure-all?" Toss.

"Confidential." Toss.

"Is this person even reliable?" Toss.

"Extremely, he was best friends with Anonymous. And…he was a reluctant source, always a sign of real information." Toss.

"Confidential _and_ Anonymous? Are you making this stuff up?" Toss.

Lois just tossed the ball back.

"And what about these 'cruelty to animal' charges? Which secret agent man provided that tidbit?" Toss.

Lois paused. She had gotten that information from the sealed FBI file…from _Lex_.

"I don't really remember. Isn't it in there somewhere?" Toss.

"I looked and couldn't connect it with anything concrete." Toss.

"Did you look in the CDC citations?" Toss.

"It wouldn't be there, Lois." Toss. The ball got away from him and bounced off the back wall. Lois still caught it. "Nice catch."

"Thank you," Lois said, grinning. "Well, can you give me a night to go through it again?" Toss.

"Lois, you should know your sources like the back of your hand." Toss.

"I guess I just don't understand. I'm a trusted reporter. Why is this such a big deal?"

"Because Kal wants to know, that's why."

Kal? The name stopped Lois in her tracks.

"Kal Gupta, from the Global Press." With the mention of the unmentionable, Lois's face registered acute frustration. So did Perry's. "Lois, you've completely twisted this thing around. It is _my_ responsibility to ask the questions and _your_ responsibility to answer. Do you find that too difficult to comply with?" Toss.

"No, Perry," she replied, still steaming, and she tossed him the ball. "I just don't understand how acceptable, industry-wide practices based on the track record of a trusted reporter can suddenly be scrutinized because there's a new big cheese in town. Explain that to me." Perry returned a look of real displeasure. Lois was confused. "That wasn't a question."

"Lois, do you realize what it would mean if we had to print a retraction?" Toss.

"Perry, we print retractions every day." Toss.

"Are you talking about misspelled names and wrongly ordered picture captions? Have you ever seen us retract a story of this magnitude? Do you know what a libel suit would cost us?" Toss.

"So this is about the money?" Lois asked. Perry gave her the eye. "Right, I have the answers. Money is…This, um…In the money factor of…" Perry snatched the ball.

"Thank God we have a worldwide audience, Lois, but do you know what the newspaper market is like now? Do you know what a lawsuit can do to a paper of even _our_ size? Don't you know that libel suits have taken out older papers than ours? And what about our integrity?"

Toss.

"How many of those questions do I have to answer?" Lois asked. Perry rolled his eyes. She sighed, discouraged. "I know; that was a question."

"Lois," Perry said, and suddenly he was very serious. "Your findings are too high-profile and too radical in comparison with those of our peers to simply rubberstamp. Your reporting on this story has to be above reproach. Impeccable. If not, I _can't_ run it."

"Listen, Perry," Lois explained, "Douglas Druitt called me last night. He wants to meet with me in a coffee shop after work. I can't tell you now, but I really think I'm going to learn everything tonight." She placed the ball on the desk. Perry picked it up. _Doesn't he ever get tired of that thing?_ she thought to herself.

"The guy from that textile company?" Perry asked. Lois nodded. "Why?" Toss. Lois didn't want Perry to know she was meeting with the suspected mastermind behind this epidemic. He'd never allow her to go alone, if at all.

"Because I have a hunch, and Perry, you know my hunches are good." He nodded. "But I have to be sure. Trust me, by tomorrow this time, all of our questions will be answered." Toss.

"I hope you're right," Perry said. "Because if they're not, I'm pulling the plug on the story."

Lois was rattled. She didn't realize so much was riding on tonight's meeting.

"Don't worry, Perry. I'll have it. I will." She rose to leave.

"Oh, and Lois," he added. "Be careful."

Lois nodded and left.


	34. Coup

**CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: COUP** (Thursday)  
See Chapter 1 for story headers.

* * *

Lois had looked at her watch for the fifth time. It was already 6:57; she had been sitting in her car on South Market for a full twelve minutes, and there was still no sign of Lex. She was due to meet Dresnell at 7:00; Lex knew that. All the confidence she had spent the day amassing was dissipating by the second. It was little comfort that Lex was patently unpredictable, all but unreachable, clandestine in his intentions, and...virtually _amoral_. It was a combination that had made her question her judgment (if not sanity) for weeks. And she didn't like the answer she was getting.

Her phone rang. The caller ID simply read "Unknown caller." She answered.

"Lois?" the voice on the other side said.

"Speaking. Who is this?" Lois asked.

"I am very nearby," Lex replied, ignoring the question. "I think it would be better if you met Dresnell alone."

"I had no intentions of having anyone accompany me," she responded. "And where are you?"

"It's best you don't know my location, although rest assured I am watching you even as we speak," he replied. Lois instinctively looked at her surroundings. The street was lined with buildings. He could be anywhere. "It's already 7:00," Lex said, "you should be going."

"Wait!" Lois yelled.

"I'm still here," Lex replied.

"Why did you come by my office this morning? You really put me in a compromising position."

"Am I that toxic?" Lex replied.

"Lex, honestly."

"I had to know if you were still committed…with my own eyes."

"Committed to what?" Lois asked, offended.

"To what we're doing. After last night I wasn't...sure."

"Jesus Christ, Lex," Lois said. "This is _my_ thing. How would I _not_ be committed?"

"I'm convinced. You need to prepare yourself for Druitt," Lex said and hung up.

Collecting herself, Lois left her car, opting to bring just her keys and phone. She'd hidden her purse under the driver's seat. She glanced around as she walked towards the rear of the grocery. She couldn't help but wonder where Lex was. She found the alley small, but mercifully dry and void of rodents. Wary of making the same mistake of leaving too soon, she stood and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

An hour had gone by and, growing impatient, Lois suddenly realized that she didn't have any way of contacting Druitt at will. She didn't have his number and calling the textile company was too risky. She didn't have Lex's number either, but at the very least she could call LuthorCorp. Maybe they would… tell her what car he was driving when he'd left for the evening. That way she could search for his car.

After a couple transfers, she reached his receptionist. "Hello, this is Karen Parks," Lois lied. "Did Mr. Luthor mention where he would be for the afternoon? I was expecting him for a meeting and he never showed."

"Sure, he's right here. Would you like to hold?"

"Wait," Lois said. "Lex…I mean, Mr. Luthor is in? Right now?"

"Yes," the receptionist said. "We were not informed of the meeting. He would no doubt be willing to reschedule. Would you like me to transfer you to him?"

Lois hung up. She could feel anger rising in her head. If Lex was in the office that meant…that meant _he_ was the one that wasn't committed. All his ranting about Lois meeting Druitt was just so he wouldn't have to be there. When he had called over an hour ago, it had probably been from his office. That's why it had taken him so long to call. The bastard. He'd feigned interest in the entire project all along to….what? Get in her pants? She stormed to her car, fuming the whole while. She started the engine, ready to speed off when it dawned on her:

What happened to Douglas Druitt? Even though Lex had never shown, why hadn't he? Druitt had seemed eager to meet with her, and she was sure that he and Lex would never conspire…their objectives were at odds. If Druitt had come, what had kept him from meeting Lois? She sat thinking. Staring through the windshield, she caught sight of a father lifting a toddler, mid-tantrum, from a shopping cart and dragging him to the car. That's when it hit her.

Lex had kidnapped Tom Dresnell.

**AN HOUR EARLIER**

"I thought my father killed you over twenty years ago," Lex said, spinning in his chair. Two burley men, Walker and Casey, strong-armed Tom Dresnell into a chair planted directly in front of Lex and strapped him in.

Dresnell looked at Lex with a cool derision. "Your father's assassins always took money from the highest bidder…or _both_ bidders." The statement provoked Lex's barely-repressed rage, and he rushed towards Dresnell, stopping within an inch of his face.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put you out of your misery right now?" Lex sneered, frighteningly serious.

"You can't kill me, Lex," he responded cooly. "This is a public building."

"This room is soundproof, fireproof, bullet proof and lined in lead. As far as anyone knows, you were never here." Walker and Casey nodded in agreement.

"Lex, this was a side project that I was going to let you know about as soon as I perfected it."

"Ahhh," Lex intoned facetiously, rising and taking a casual stroll around his office. "_Perfected_ it. That _is_ what you said, _right_?"

"I know it seems -"

"Shut-up," Lex demanded. Dresnell complied. "So, you decided to skip a little step called clinical trials and took it upon yourself to wreak havoc on Greater Metropolis - in my name. Of course, clinical trials aren't really performed for deadly microbes - so you were really thinking outside of the box on all counts, weren't you?" The man gazed at Lex silently. "Answer me!" Lex roared.

Dresnell mumbled something that was barely audible.

"Please, gentlemen." Lex motioned to Casey and Walker. "Help our guest speak more clearly." Casey and Walker lifted the chair and turned it upside down, with Dresnell dangling from it. "There," Lex said. "That might help the words come out more easily."

"The microbe was never meant to get out, Lex," the man began frantically. "It was a project to find a microbe or bacterium, or, or, anything so insidious that it could sabotage the immune system of anyone." Dresnell paused. "Including Superman."

Lex, for the first time in the conversation, had stumbled upon a fact of interest. It was a..._pleasant_...surprise. "Really?" He asked. Dresnell nodded. "And what were your findings?" But before he could answer, Lex amended the question, "Don't tell me that's why Superman's been conspicuously missing from his village of choice."

"Um." Dresnell gulped firmly, then coughed. His nose began running, and he started a cycle of sneezing, coughing and sniffling. "We never actually got to infect, um, Superman. To our _knowledge_, we never, um, infected, or um, got to infect, uh, Superman."

"To your knowledge," Lex echoed, while nodding. "To your knowledge," he repeated. "Meanwhile, every governmental agency this side of Jupiter wants me strapped to an electric chair. But, _to your knowledge_, you never infected Superman." The man closed his eyes, no doubt involuntarily. "Put him down," Lex commanded. Walker and Casey unceremoniously dropped the man back into the upright position.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Tom, Tom, Tom," Lex called. "How we _do_ go back." Tom, meanwhile, was gasping for air. "Don't tell me you've forgotten…Uncle Thomas." Lex advanced further until he was standing right next to him. He began to stroke Dresnell's hair gently, as if he were petting a cat. "Don't worry, Uncle Thomas," he began. His voice was calm, eerily so. "I never told my mother. I never told her about the shots or the enemas." Lex leaned into his ear, whispering. "I didn't tell her about the poking or the prodding, the vile potions, the vomiting, the shooting pain, the blistering cold or the feverish heat." He grabbed Dresnell's face in one hand, gripping it tightly. Dresnell winced from the pain. "I never even told her about what you did to me in our _private_ sessions. _That_, Uncle Thomas, was our little secret." Lex punctuated the sentence by spitting in his face.

"Lex, I will give you anything you want," Dresnell pleaded. "Copyrights, patents, staff, access to my labs—you name it." Lex could smell the panic, and perhaps urine, emanating from the man.

"Well, there is _something_…I want," Lex said.

Lex ambled over to his desk and produced a white box. He gingerly opened the lid, gazing at the item inside a moment before lifting the contents and placing it on the table before him.

It was a gun.

Dresnell visibly jumped at the sight. "Do you know why I have this gun here?" Lex asked. Dresnell was in cataplexy and absolutely unable to respond. "No guesses? Well I'll just tell you. It is the gun I was going to kill you with," Lex said.

The man's countenance was awash with an impossible mix of sheer horror and profound relief. Lex took the gun and placed it back in the alabaster box. "But now - I think you're worth more alive."

"What do you want?" Dresnell just managed to ask, battered and eagerly cooperative. Lex strolled to Dresnell, stooping in front of him and meeting him eye-level.

"I want the cure."

Lex handed him a voice recorder. Dresnell took it. "What is this?" he asked.

"You will say exactly what I tell you to."


End file.
